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LIBRARY 


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BY  ELBRIDGE  S.  BROOKS. 


Historic  Americans. 

Illustrated  by  Merrill.  $1.50. 


BY  GERALDINE  BROOKS. 

Dames  and  Daughters  of  Colonial 
Days. 

Illustrated  by  Copeland.  $1.50. 


Dames  and  Daughters  of  the  Young 
Republic. 

Illustrated  by  Ogden.  $1.50. 


THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  & CO., 

NEW  YORK. 


DOLLY  CAME  DOWN  TO  WELCOME  HER  GUESTS. 


D A ; >i ESA N D DA U G H TE R S 


' *■  VORJC 

THdM/VS  Vv^CaDWiiii:  V <'0  ’ 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 
Duke  University  Libraries 


https://archive.org/details/damesdaughtersof01broo_0 


DAMES  AND  DAUGHTERS 

a 

OF 

THE  YOUNG  REPUBLIG 


BY 

GERALDINE  BROOKS 


Author  of  “ Dames  and  Daughters  of  Colonial 
Days  ’* 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  H.  A.  OGDEN 


NEW  YORK 

THOMAS  y.  CROWELL  & CO. 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  igoi, 

By  Thomas  Y.  Crowell  & Company. 


/ 


PREFACE. 


HE  early  years  of  the  young  republic  are 


-L  peculiarly  interesting,  because  the  period  they 
represent  -was  a formative  one  in  the  history  of 
our  nation.  Manners  and  customs  were  chang- 
ing and,  in  the  growth  of  a slowly  developing 
Americanism,  the  men  and  women  of  the  young 
republic  were  expressions  of  the  time  of  transition 
in  which  they  lived.  The  dames  and  daughters 
of  the  young  republic  had  much  of  the  stateli- 
ness and  conservatism  of  their  colonial  predeces- 
sors, hut  they  were  more  democratic  and  less 
formal,  as  was  consistent  with  the  new  order  of 
things.  Side  by  side  with  the  old-time  aristocratic 
lady  of  the  manor  appeared  the  more  liberal- 
minded  matron  who  could  ignore  class  distinc- 
tions and  make  herself  a universal  friend,  and  the 
breezy  pioneer  girl  who  played  so  large  a part 
in  the  settlement  of  the  West. 

These  narrative  sketches  of  certain  dames  and 
daughters  of  our  young  republic  are  designed 


111 


IV 


PREFACE. 


to  show  the  varying  types  of  character  and 
conditions  of  society  that  governed  life  in 
America  a century  ago,  and  to  follow  in  natural 
sequence,  as  a companion  volume,  “Dajies  AjSTD 
Daughters  of  Colonial  Days.” 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I.-^  Dorothea  Patne  Madison,  Wife  of  James 

Madison 1 

II.  Sarah  Jat,  Wife  of  John  Jay 43 

III^  Theodosia  Burr,  Daughter  of  Aaron  Burr  . 84 

IV.  Elizabeth  Patterson,  Wife  of  Prince  Jerome 

Bonaparte 130 

V.  Martha  Jefferson,  Daughter  of  Thomas 

Jefferson 176 

VI.  Rachel  Jackson,  Wife  of  Andrew  Jackson  . 216 

VII.  \ Dorothy  Hancock,  Wife  of  John  Hancock  . 243 

VIII.  Emily  Marshall,  familiarly  known  as  “the 

Beautiful  Emily  Marshall” 269 


V 


m 


"r-o*  ■ 

■ 1 . ' 


■J 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Drawings  hy  H.  A.  Ogden. 


PAGE 

Dolly  came  down  to  welcome  her  Guests.  (Page  4.) 

Frontispiece 

“I  AM  GOING  TO  GIVE  YOU  AN  ObJECT  LeSSON  ” ...  48 

He  Li^D  HIS  Hand  caressingly  on  hers 96 

SIiss  Elizabeth  and  her  Illustrious  Lover  moved  in 

AN  Enchanted  World  that  Evening 134 

Patsy  and  Polly  came  into  the  Boom 196 

The  Hero  and  his  Wife  went  through  their  Eavo- 

rite  Keel  together 228 

One  Erbnchman  showed  his  Appreciation  by  drinking 

Seventeen  Cups  of  Tea 260 

She  is  said  to  have  walked  attended  by  “ Ten 

Escorts  ” 280 

vii 


DA^ES  AND  DAUGHTERS  OF 
THE  YOUNG  REPUBLIC. 


I. 

DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON, 

BETTER  KNOWN  AS  “DOLLY  MADISON,”  WIFE  OF. 
JAMES  MADISON,  FOURTH  PRESIDENT  OF 
THE  UNITED  STATES. 


Born  in  North  Carolina,  May  20,  1768. 
Died  in  Washington,  D.C.,  July  12,  1849, 


“ The  years  when  Mrs.  Madison  held  sway  in  the  society  of 
the  capital  will  ever  he  looked  upon  as  the  golden  age  of  Wash- 
ington society.”  — Anne  Hollingsworth  Wharton. 

During  the  second  administration  of  our  Re- 
public, in  Philadelphia  the  capital,  a certain  pleas- 
ant boarding-house  was  to  be  found  under  the 
management  of  a lovely  gray-haired  Quaker  widow, 
Mrs.  Payne.  Mrs.  Payne’s  boarders  had  cause  to 
congratulate  themselves.  While  other  lodgers  at 
the  capital,  representatives,  senators,  and  even  the 
vice-president,  were  raising  many  a despairing  cry 
because  of  the  wretched  taverns  and  hotels  where 
they  were  forced  to  stay,  the  guests  at  Mistress 


2 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


Payne’s  were  cosey  and  well  cared  for.  More- 
over, their  good  fortune  had  brought  them  under 
the  same  roof  with  the  most  “ entrancing  of 
spirites.” 

Her  name  was  Dolly  Todd.  She  was  Mrs. 
Payne’s  daughter  and  a widow  like  her  mother, 
a beautiful  girl- widow,  with  the  dark  blue  eyes  and 
curling  black  hair  of  her  Irish  forefathers.  Some 
of  the  Irish  merriment,  too,  that  was  her  heritage 
lurked  in  her  eyes  and  played  about  the  comers  of 
her  pretty  mouth.  And  a glance  of  those  blue 
eyes  from  under  the  long  lashes  worked  havoc  in 
the  heart  of  the  beholder. 

Indeed,  so  famous  did  Dolly  become  because  of 
her  charms  that,  as  one  of  her  girl  friends  declared, 
“gentlemen  would  station  themselves  where  they 
could  see  her  pass.”  “ Really,  Dolly,”  remon- 
strated the  same  young  woman  laughingly,  “ thou 
must  hide  thy  face,  there  are  so  many  staring  at 
thee.” 

There  was  dwellmg  m the  capital  at  the  same 
time  with  Dolly  a famous  little  representative,  one 
of  those  remarkable  men  who  had  been  prominent 
in  the  framing  of  the  Constitution.  James  Madi- 
son was  his  name.  Quiet,  pale,  reflective,  a great 
scholar,  he  was  quite  the  reverse  of  gay  Mistress 
Dolly.  Moreover,  he  took  little  interest  in  women 
follvs.  It  was  whispered  as  an  excuse  for  his  in- 
difference that  he  had  suffered  from  a love  affair  in 
his  earlier  days  and  now,  at  the  mature  age  of 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


3 


forty-three,  he  was  pronounced  an  unreclaimable 
bachelor. 

But  even  seemingly  unreclaimable  bachelora 
have  hearts.  And  Madison  was  not  without  his. 
As  he  happened  to  be  strolling  along  the  Philadel- 
phia streets  one  day,  thinking  of  some  momentous 
problem,  there  flashed  by  him  a wonderfully  fair 
young  Quakeress.  Madison  started  from  his 
reverie.  The  momentous  problem  was  forgotten 
and  the  rest  of  that  day  he  was  haunted  by  the 
vision  of  a beautiful  young  face,  with  blue  eyes, 
black  curls,  and  blusliing  cheeks.  If  his  friends 
could  but  know  it,  James  Madison  was  no  longer 
unreclaimable. 

Mistress  Dolly  was  well  known  in  the  little  capi- 
tal. “ ’T  is  the  widow  Todd,”  they  told  Mr.  Mad- 
ison in  answer  to  his  inquiries  concerning  the 
lovely  Quakeress.  Then,  when  he  had  discovered 
her  name,  he  could  not  rest  satisfied  until  he  had 
found  some  one  who  would  give  him  the  honor  of 
her  acquaintance. 

Among  the  guests  stopping  at  Mistress  Payne’s 
was  a friend  of  Madison’s,  a brilliant,  fiery-eyed 
young  senator.  Aaron  Burr  it  was  and  to  him 
Madison  turned  in  his  desire  for  an  introduction  to 
the  charming  widow. 

Of  course  Aaron  Burr  went  straight  to  Mistress 
Todd  with  the  story  of  his  bachelor  friend’s  uifatu- 
ation  and  Dolly,  all  in  a flutter  of  expectation, 
wrote  to  her  confidant,  Mrs.  Lee  : 


4 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


“ Dear  Friend,  thou  must  come  to  me.  Aaron 
Burr  says  that  the  great  little  Madison  has  asked 
to  be  brought  to  see  me  this  evening.” 

The  evening  arrived  and  Dolly  came  down  to 
welcome  her  guests,  radiant  in  a gown  of  mulberry 
satin,  a soft  tulle  handkerchief  folded  about  her 
neck,  and  the  most  exquisite  of  Quaker  caps  only 
half  concealing  her  pretty  black  curls. 

The  two  gentlemen  who  bowed  before  her  in  her 
mother’s  candle-lit  drawing-room  were  verj^  unlike 
in  appearance  and  character.  Burr  was  graceful, 
fluent,  dangerous  in  his  powers  of  fascination. 
Madison  was  without  magnetism  or  charm,  slow, 
almost  precise  in  his  manner,  but  a quiet  humor 
twinkled  in  his  eye  and  liis  plain,  pleasant  face 
spoke  integrity  of  character. 

It  was  a credit  to  Mistress  Dolly’s  powers  of 
discernment  that  she  was  able  to  judge  which  was 
the  greater  of  the  two  men.  Not  the  brilliant, 
unscrupulous  Burr,  but  the  steadfast  Madison  at- 
tracted her.  Butterfly  though  she  was,  she  could 
appreciate  the  sterling  qualities  of  her  dignified 
little  lover.  In  the  days  that  followed,  she  list- 
ened willingly  to  his  sedate  love-making  and  when 
at  length  he  openly  declared  himself  a suitor  for  her 
hand,  she  did  not  say  no. 

All  of  Dolly’s  friends  were  delighted  when  it 
was  whispered  about  that  she  was  to  marry  i\Ir. 
Madison.  Mi-s.  Washington  sent  word  for  her  to 
come  to  the  presidential  mansion.  When  Dolly 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


5 


arrived,  the  Mistress  President  took  her  by  both 
hands  and  looked  anxiously  into  her  shining  eyes, 
as  if  trying  to  decide  whether  Dolly  were  coquetty 
or  in  earnest. 

“ Dolly,”  she  inquired,  “ is  it  true  you  are  en- 
gaged to  James  Madison?  ” 

Dolly’s  eyes  went  into  mourning  under  her  dark 
lashes  and  she  grew  rosier  than  ever  as  she  fal- 
tered : 

“I  — think  — not.” 

In  spite  of  this  negative  response,  Mrs.  Washing- 
ton seemed  satisfied.  The  young  widow’s  manner 
told  her  more  than  the  words. 

“Do  not  be  ashamed  to  confess  it,  my  dear,”  she 
said  affectionately.  “ James  Madison  will  make 
you  a good  husband.  The  president  and  I are 
much  pleased  with  your  choice.” 

Thus  it  was  that  Dolly  obtained  the  “ royal  ” 
sanction.  Having  that,  she  allowed  her  engage- 
ment to  James  Madison  to  be  formally  announced 
and  arrangements  were  made  for  a speedy  marriage. 
Mr.  Madison,  so  deliberate  in  all  tlungs  else,  was 
impatient  to  claim  his  bride. 

One  brilliant  day  in  early  September  of  the  year 
1794,  a gay  cavalcade  in  carriages  and  on  horse- 
back set  out  from  the  capital.  It  was  Dolly  Todd’s 
wedding-party  and  they  were  bound  for  Harewood, 
the  home  of  Dolly’s  sister  Lucy,  Mrs.  George  Step- 
toe  Washington,  niece  by  marriage  to  the  presi- 
dent. There  the  ceremony  was  to  be  performed. 


6 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


In  one  of  the  open  barouches  sat  Dolly,  the 
merriest  of  all  the  company,  and  in  the  carriage 
with  her  were  her  sister  Anna,  a smiling,  fair-haired 
girl  of  twelve,  and  Dolly’s  son,  Payne  Todd,  a dark- 
eyed  little  two-year-old.  Madison,  mounted  on 
horseback,  was  riding  at  Dolly’s  side,  his  face  lighh 
ing  with  pleasure  as  he  chatted  with  her. 

Those  were  lovely  .au  tumn  days  and  for  a week 
the  lively  company  journeyed  on.  Their  way  took 
them  along  the  vdnding  banks  of  the  Susquehanna, 
through  Baltimore  town,  over  the  picturesque 
Maryland  slopes,  and  finally  into  Virginia  and 
Jefferson  County,  where  on  the  shore  of  the  Po- 
tomac, Harewood  opened  its  hospitable  doors  to 
receive  them. 

Then,  for  many  days,  there  were  great  times  at 
the  Washington  country  home.  Friends,  relatives, 
and  neighboi’s  came  from  far  and  near,  all  anxious 
to  see  “ the  great  little  Madison  ” married  to  “ the 
lovely  Widow  Todd.” 

September  15th  was  their  wedding-day.  The 
ceremony  was  not  performed  after  the  manner  of 
Friends,  but  a kinsman  of  the  groom,  a minister  of 
the  Church  of  England,  united  them.  There  was 
the  usual  profusion  of  sweet-smelling  flowers  and 
numerous  bridesmaids  and  groomsmen.  And  the 
rites  over,  the  house  resounded  with  the  strains  of 
fiddle  and  banjo  and  the  beat  of  many  feet,  as  the 
young  beaux  and  laughing  girls  rollicked  through 
a Virginia  reel  to  the  tune  of  “Money  Musk.” 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


7 


In  the  midst  of  the  festivities,  bride  and  groom 
stole  away.  But  the  young  people  were  as  mis- 
chievous then  as  now.  They  chased  after  the 
bridal  pair,  audaciously  snipped  bits  of  Mr.  Madi- 
son’s Mechlin  lace  ruffles  as  mementos  of  the  wed- 
ding, and  sent  a shower  of  rice  and  flowers  after 
the  retreating  coach,  which  was  bearing  away  the 
happiest  of  husbands  and  a smiling,  radiant  young 
wife. 

The  life  to  which  Dolly  was  going  was  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  life  she  had  left  behind.  She  had 
married  outside  of  the  Friends  and  need  no  longer 
observe  the  Quaker  forms  and  regulations  that  had 
once  hemmed  her  about  so  rigidly.  The  old  ways 
slipped  from  her  easily.  And  this  was  natural,  for 
Dolly  had  never  been  a Quaker  at  heart. 

Even  in  her  childhood,  her  love  of  flnery  had 
been  stronger  than  her  religion.  The  little  Quaker 
Dolly  who  used  to  trip  along  the  forest  paths  to  the 
old  field  school  in  Hanover  County,  Virginia,  was 
not  nearly  so  demure  as  she  appeared.  Her  gown, 
to  be  sure,  was  very  sober;  long  gloves  covered 
her  dimpled  arms,  and  her  rosy  face  was  almost 
hidden  by  a linen  mask  and  close  bonnet  to  keep 
the  sun  from  her  complexion  ; but  about  her  neck, 
concealed  under  the  Quaker  kerchief,  there  hung  a 
little  bag  filled  with  “ dear  but  Avicked  baubles,” 
secret  gifts  from  a worldly  grandmamma. 

Dolly’s  father,  however,  unlike  his  wayward  little 
daughter,  was  a devoted  Quaker,  even  leaving  his 


8 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


beloved  Virginia  for  religious  reasons,  and  settling 
in  Philadelphia,  the  home  of  the  Friends.  But  this 
did  not  happen  until  Dolly  was  a grown  girl.  All 
her  clrildhood  was  passed  in  Virginia,  the  land  that 
was  dearest  to  her. 

She  was  not  born  in  Virginia,  however,  but  in 
North  Carolina,  where  her  parents  had  gone  for  a 
visit.  On  a soft  May  day  she  came  into  the  world, 
and  it  was  as  if  the  Carolina  spring  violets  gave 
their  color  and  sweetness  to  her  baby  eyes. 

In  the  Virginia  plantation  home  she  grew  up, 
dwelling  far  from  the  world  but  very  near  to  Na- 
ture. All  frivolous  pleasures  were  denied  her  as 
rigorously  as  if  she  had  been  a cliild  of  Puritan 
parents.  Yet,  nevertheless,  her  worldly  nature 
would  assert  itself.  She  loved  pretty  clothes  and 
hated  books. 

At  length  there  came  a time  when  she  was  able 
to  indulge  her  mundane  tastes.  Her  father’s  emi- 
gration to  Philadelphia  placed  her  in  a flourishing 
metropolis,  where,  in  spite  of  her  severely  religious 
papa,  she  could  not  help  but  see  something  of  life 
and  fashion.  When,  of  a sunshiny  afternoon,  she 
strolled  along  the  riverside,  or  over  the  western 
Commons,  or  on  the  shady  side  of  Chestnut  street, 
she  might  behold  a promenade  of  smart  macaronies 
in  tight-fitting  small  clothes,  silk  stockings,  and 
buckled  shoes,  and  elegant  young  women,  gorgeous 
in  their  flariuo'  skirts  of  silk  and  brocade.  We  may 

O ^ 

be  sure  the  little  countr}^  girl — -she  was  fifteen  at 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


9 


the  time  of  her  coming  to  Philadelphia  — noted 
every  detail  of  those  amazing  costumes  and  secretly 
wished  to  be  a part  of  that  brilliant  dress  parade. 
How  she  would  have  colored  with  surprise  and 
pleasure  could  slie  have  known  that  some  day  she 
herself  would  be  setting  the  fashions  and  making 
the  social  laws,  for  the  gay  world  ! 

But  although,  at  that  period  in  her  young  girl- 
hood, Dolly  could  only  look  at  all  such  magnifi- 
cence and  long,  she  was  not  without  her  good  times. 
There  were  some  amusements  deemed  not  unfittingf 
for  the  boys  and  girls  of  Qiiaker  parents.  Dolly 
and  her  brothers  and  sisters  were  soon  included  in 
the  various  driving  and  sailing  parties  of  the  young 
Friends  of  Philadelphia.  A reference  to  one  of 
these  excui-sions  has  come  down  to  us  and  is  inter- 
esting in  its  suggestiveness. 

Under  the  date  of  July  10,  1784,  Elizabeth 
Drinker,  the  mother  of  some  of  Dolly’s  Quaker 
friends,  records  in  her  diary,  “ Sally  Drinker  and 
Walter  Payne,  Billy  Sansom  and  Polly  Wells, 
Jacob  Downing  and  Dolly  Payne,  went  to  our 
Place  at  Frankfort.”  The  very  apparent  coupling 
of  the  party  is  amusing,  and  hints  that  Dolly  was 
not  without  her  “ swain,”  even  at  that  early  age. 

Perhaps  the  pleasantest  times  for  Dolly  Avere 
those  spent  among  her  cousins  at  Haddonfield,  New 
Jersey.  There  she  was  always  entertained  Avith 
a merry  round  of  quilting-parties,  winter  sleigh- 
rides,  and  summer  picnics.  In  the  eourse  of  time, 


10 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


her  charms  won  her  many  a countr}-  beau  who, 
when  they  were  old  men,  loved  to  recall  the  sweet 
Dolly  Payne  they  had  known  in  their  boyhood. 
As  for  Dolly,  she  never  forgot  her  old-time  friends 
and  adorers  and  her  welcome  of  them  was  as  warm 
in  the  days  of  her  greatness  as  when  she  had  been 
a little  unlmown  Quakeress. 

However,  Dolly’s  life  at  this  time  was  not  all 
picnicking  and  beaux.  Trouble  as  well  as  pleasure 
came  to  her.  Her  father,  whom  she  loved  dearly 
and  who  was  as  kind  as  he  was  severely  rehgious, 
was  growing  poor.  Philadelphia,  that  place  of 
“ crucifying  expenses,”  had  proved  too  much  for 
his  purse,  which  was  always  open  to  the  calls  of 
charity  and  hospitality,  and  his  last  years  were  sad- 
dened by  a sense  of  failure  and  disgrace. 

But  he  was  not  without  his  consolations  and  one 
of  these  was  Dolly’s  marriage.  Dolly’s  future  hus- 
band, John  Todd,  a promising  young  lawyer,  went 
to  the  same  meeting-house  that  Dolly  did.  Xo 
doubt  he  was  one  of  those  “ idle  young  men  ” who 
attended  evening  serHce  for  the  purpose  of  “ wait- 
ing about  to  see  the  young  women  pass  out,” 
thereby  incurring  the  displeasure  of  the  elders.  It 
seems  strano-e  that  the  elders  could  not  have  been 

O 

lenient  in  Mr.  Todd’s  case,  considering  his  great 
temptation.  Surely  it  can  have  been  no  easy  mat- 
ter for  any  one,  especially  for  an  ardent  5mung  lover 
like  John  Todd,  to  deny  one’s  self  the  pleasure  of 
beholding  Dolly. 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


11 


When  Dolly  Avas  first  confronted  with  the  solemn 
prospect  of  matrimony  she  shook  her  head.  “ I never 
mean  to  marry,”  she  declared.  But  very  soon,  in 
accordance  with  her  woman’s  privilege,  she  changed 
her  mind.  Perhaps  her  father’s  pleadings,  even 
more  than  her  lover’s,  influenced  her.  It  was  like 
Dolly  to  marry  a man  to  please  her  father.  She 
always  regarded  other  people’s  wishes  before  her 
own. 

On  the  seventh  of  January,  1790,  when  the  bride 
was  twenty-one  and  the  groom  twenty-seven,  Dolly 
Payne  and  John  Todd  were  united  according  to  the 
Quaker  fashion.  Poor  Dolly  who  was  so  fond  of 
merriment  and  friAmlity ! Her  Avedding  must  have 
cost  her  many  a pang  in  its  absence  of  all  gayety 
and  brilliancy.  There  Avas  no  dancing,  or  drinking 
of  the  bride’s  health,  no  stealing  of  slippers  or  tlirow- 
ing  of  rice.  In  the  bare-Avalled  meeting-house, 
without  minister  or  wedding  music,  she  and  her 
betrothed  stood  up  together  upon  the  “ woman’s 
side  ” and  “ declared,  before  God  and  the  assembled 
Society,  their  intention  of  taking  each  other  as 
husband  and  Avife.”  Then  the  vow  was  repeated, 
the  certificate  of  marriage  Avas  read,  the  register 
Avas  signed  by  the  Avitnesses,  and  Dolly  and  John 
Todd  Avere  married. 

Dolly’s  years  Avith  her  first  husband  were  brief 
and  happy  and  they  ended  tragically.  In  Sep- 
tember of  the  year  1793,  a dreadful  scourge  of 
yellow  fever  attacked  Philadelphia.  For  weeks 


12 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


after  the  outbreak  of  the  plague,  a general  removal 
took  place  and  a procession  of  carts,  wagons,  and 
coaches  was  to  be  seen  transferring  families  and 
furniture  to  the  country.  Among  the  retreating 
throng  was  Dolly  Todd  with  her  two  children,  one 
the  little  dark-eyed  Payne  and  the  other  a baby  of 
three  weeks.  She  was  carried  on  a litter  to  Gray’s 
Ferry  and  then,  feeling  safe  with  “the  trees,  the 
birds,  and  the  great  healthy  world,”  she  waited  for 
lier  husband.  He  came,  but  with  the  fever  in  hLs 
veins,  and  a few  hours  after  his  arrival  he  died. 
Dolly,  who  had  risked  her  life  to  be  with  him,  caught 
the  disease  and  for  three  weelvs  lay  dangerously  ill. 
When  she  recovered,  it  was  to  find  herself  a widow 
with  only  one  child.  Her  baby  as  well  as  her  hus- 
band had  died. 

In  November,  with  the  coming  of  the  frosts,  the 
pestilence  vanished.  Then  the  procession  of  carts, 
wagons,  and  coaches  came  slowly  back  to  Plfiladel- 
phia  and  in  its  train  the  sad-eyed  girl-widow  and 
her  little  son. 

But  Dolly’s  sunny  nature  would  not  let  her  brood 
over  her  grief.  She  was  young  and  beautiful  and 
had  many  friends.  She  could  not  help  but  enjoy 
life.  And  it  was  not  long  before  she  was  taking 
her  place  in  the  gay  universe. 

Now  for  the  first  time  she  was  mistress  of  her- 
self. There  was  no  Quaker  father  or  Quaker  hus- 
band to  restrain  her  in  her  love  of  frivolitj’  and 
finery.  This  period  in  her  life  was  her  real  girl- 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


13 


hood.  And  very  soon  she  found  herself  the  centre 
of  a little  social  world.  She  was  genuinely  popular, 
and  this  not  only  because  of  her  personal  charm  but 
because  of  her  desire  to  please  and  be  pleased  and 
especially, — wherein  lay  the  secret  of  her  future 
greatness, — because  of  her  ability  to  make  every 
one  appear  at  his  best  when  with  her. 

Fortunately  we  can  know  how  Dolly  looked  at 
this  period  of  her  first  glory,  when  she  was  becoming 
famous  as  the  lovely  Widow  Todd.  A miniature 
of  her  painted  at  that  time  has  come  down  to  us  and 
shows  a sweetly  winning  face  framed  in  a halo  of 
lace  cap.  As  we  gaze  at  the  coquettish  curls,  the 
pretty  smiling  mouth,  the  eyes  half  wistful  and  half 
merry,  and  the  general  air  of  easy  grace,  we  do  not 
wonder  that  such  charms  took  captive  the  heart  of 
the  staid  and  sedate  Madison. 

Aaron  Burr,  in  his  old  age,  loved  to  recall  with 
“ a proud  chuckle  ” that  it  was  he  who  made  the 
match  between  Dolly  Todd  and  James  Madison. 
In  this  case  his  boast  was  pardonable.  The  only 
pity  is  that  all  of  Burr’s  undertakings  could  not 
have  turned  out  as  creditably  as  that  “most  for- 
tunate ’’  marriage. 

The  life  that  was  destined  to  be  so  happy  opened 
brightly  for  James  and  Dolly  Madison,  and  Dolly 
found  her  husband’s  country  estate,  the  beautiful 
Montpelier  in  Orange  County,  Virginia,  a most 
charming  spot  for  her  honeymoon  days.  It  was  in 
the  land  of  the  Blue  Ridges,  a place  of  swelling 


14 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


meadows  and  ancient  forest  trees.  The  gardens 
that  stretched  about  the  house  held  many  delights 
for  the  young,  nature-loving  wife  — sweet  beds  of 
roses  and  of  jessamine,  trellises  where  the  grapes 
hung  purple  and  juicy  on  the  vines,  orchards  of  figs 
and  golden  peaches,  and  winding  paths  that  led  off 
into  shadowy  distances. 

Here  with  the  children,  her  sister  Anna  and  the 
little  Payne,  Dolly  whose  heart  was  always  young 
could  be  a child  herself,  plajdng  their  games  with 
them  upon  the  lawns  or  walking  and  driving  mth 
them  tlu'ough  the  brilliant  autumn  woodlands, 
while  from  his  study  Avindow  her  husband,  the  grave 
scholar,  could  catch  glimpses  of  her  as  she  passed 
and  feel  the  inspiration  of  her  sunny  presence. 
And  when  she  came  into  liis  study,  smiling  aboAn 
the  flowers  and  bright  leaves  she  brouofht  for  his 
desk,  the  big  books  were  pushed  aside  and  for- 
gotten, Avhile  the  student  became  lost  in  the  loA^er. 

But  affairs  of  state  Avould  not  permit  IMadison 
and  his  bride  to  remain  foreA^er  AA’itliin  their  “ squir- 
rel’s throw  of  Paradise  ” and  it  Avas  not  long  before 
they  Avere  back  in  Philadelphia.  There  they  Avere 
Avarmly  welcomed  and  congratulated  b}^  the  Pres- 
ident and  his  Avife  and  all  their  numerous  friends. 
Dolly,  at  IMr.  Madison’s  request,  had  laid  aside  her 
Quaker  costume  and  uoav  for  the  fimt  time  appeared 
in  such  brilliant  gOAvns  as  had  once  filled  her  girl- 
ish heart  with  longing.  Of  coui’se  she  looked  more 
exquisitely  pretty  than  ever  in  her  bright  new 
plumage. 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


15 


The  season  was  at  its  height  when  the  bride  and 
groom  arrived  at  the  capital.  There  was  the  usual 
dressing  and  dancing,  gossiping,  flirting,  and  dining 
out.  All  of  this  pleased  Mrs.  Madison  much  better 
than  it  did  her  husband.  She  entered  into  it 
with  delightful  freshness  and  enthusiasm,  but  he, 
who  was  so  many  years  her  senior,  looked  beyond 
the  gay  attractive  surface  and  saw  the  social  envy 
and  spite,  the  political  discord  that  lay  beneath  it. 
He  was  tired  of  his  public  life  and  talked  of  with- 
drawing. His  friends,  however,  would  not  hear  of 
it  and  Jefferson,  who  knew  what  influence  was 
strongest  with  him,  ended  an  eloquent  plea  with 
the  remark,  “ Tell  Mrs.  Madison  to  keep  you  where 
you  are  for  her  own  satisfaction  and  for  the  public 
good.”  Thus  appealed  to,  the  young  wife,  who 
made  her  husband’s  career  her  first  care,  exerted 
her  powers  of  persuasion  and  to  such  good  effect 
that  Madison  was  kept  in  his  seat  until  the  end  of 
the  Washington  administration. 

During  these  years  of  1794-1797,  Philadelphia 
society  was  very  lively.  It  was  a brilliant  lot  of 
men  and  women  who  were  gathered  together  within 
the  little  Quaker  capital,  not  only  our  world-famous 
Americans  but  distinguished  foreigners  who  had 
been  driven  over-seas  by  the  horrors  of  the  French 
Revolution.  At  the  balls  and  dinners  to  wliich 
Dolly  went,  she  danced  and  chatted  with  the 
Bourbon  princes,  the  Due  de  Liaucourt,  and  the 
great  ecclesiastic  diplomat  Talleyrand,  as  well  as 


16 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


with  her  old-time  acquaintance  Aaron  Burr  and 
her  admiring  friend  Thomas  Jefferson. 

Every  one,  without  respect  of  party  or  nationality, 
was  charmed  with  Dolly.  Her  tact  and  intuitive 
knowledge  of  men  and  women  made  it  possible  for 
her  to  avoid  all  enmities.  Even  so  stanch  a 
Federalist  as  John  Adams,  despising  James  Mad- 
ison because  of  his  “ false  Republican  gods,”  spoke 
in  praise  of  Mrs.  Madison.  “ She  is  a fine  woman,” 
he  said,  in  a letter  to  his  wife. 

With  the  close  of  the  Washington  administration, 
Dolly’s  life  in  Philadelphia  came  to  an  end  and 
during  the  next  four  years  she  and  her  husband 
lived  quietly  and  contentedly  at  Montpelier,  their 
beautiful  mountain  home.  Here,  in  a calm  and  un- 
eventful existence,  Dolly’s  cheerful,  adaptable  nature 
found  as  much  pleasure  as  formerly  in  the  gayeties 
of  official  society.  She  was  busy  with  her  domestic 
duties,  her  gardening,  and  the  bringing  up  of  her 
little  son. 

Payne  was  growing  into  a handsome,  winning  boy, 
who  loved  to  tease  his  “ Grandmamma  iMadison  ” 
and  play  tricks  upon  the  servants.  He  was  his 
mother’s  darling  and  Mr.  Madison’s  too,  and  the 
indulgent  love  that  was  showered  upon  him  in  his 
childhood  by  both  parents  may  have  been  partly 
the  cause  of  his  later  worthlessness. 

The  four  jmars  of  happy  countiy  life  passed 
quickly.  Then,  upon  the  election  of  Thomas  Jef- 
ferson to  the  first  place  in  the  nation,  i\Ir.  Madison 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


17 


was  appointed  by  his  old  friend  to  the  office  of 
secretary  of  state  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Madison  once 
more  became  residents  of  the  capital. 

Philadelphia  was  no  longer  the  capital  but 
Washington,  the  new  federal  city,  sprung  up  in  the 
heart  of  a wilderness,  where,  within  three  hundred 
yards  of  the  House  of  Congress,  one  might  start  a 
“ covey  of  partridges.”  As  yet  it  was  finished  only 
upon  paper.  But  in  spite  of  its  scattered  dwell- 
ings, its  “ deep  morasses,”  and  its  general  incom- 
pleteness a very  pleasant  society  was  to  be  found 
in  the  new  capital  and  the  neighboring  towns  of 
Alexandria  and  Georgetown. 

Into  this  society  Jefferson  had  introduced  the 
same  spirit  of  simplicity  and  democracy  that 
characterized  his  political  policy.  He  did  away 
with  all  ceremony  and  formality  and  even  abol- 
ished the  state  dinners  and  weekly  levees  of  the 
former  presidents.  Of  course  his  friends  and 
sympathizers  were  delighted  and  rejoiced  that  at 
last  they  were  to  have  a truly  republican  govern- 
ment. But  there  were  others  who  sighed  for  the 
old  social  functions  and  complained  that  there  was 
to  be  no  dignity  of  office  under  the  new  rSgime. 

It  was  Mrs.  Madison  who  put  a stop  to  all  such  dis- 
content and  fault-finding.  With  her  exquisite  tact 
and  gracious  manners,  she  was  able  to  smooth  over 
the  rough  places  and  give  an  elegance  to  occasions 
that  would  otherwise  have  been  quite  crude  and 
disagreeable. 


18 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


She  was  the  first  lady  of  the  land  now.  Mrs. 
Jefferson  had  been  dead  for  many  years  and  both 
of  Jefferson’s  daughters  were  married  and  living 
at  a distance,  so  to  Mrs.  Madison,  as  the  wife  of 
the  chief  Cabinet  officer  and  an  intimate  friend 
of  the  president,  fell  the  lot  of  presiding  at  the 
White  House.  There  still  remain  several  quaint 
notes  of  invitation  from  the  president  to  Mrs.  Madi- 
son, always  presenting  “ affectionate  salutations,” 
and  asking  her  and  sometimes  her  gay  young  sister 
Anna  to  do  tire  honors  of  his  home  for  him,  when 
guests  were  expected. 

In  spite  of  her  exalted  position,  iMrs.  Madison 
remained  as  modest  and  unassuming  as  ever.  She 
even  complained  of  being  “put  forward”  by  Mr. 
Jefferson  and  a story  has  come  doAvn  to  us  show- 
ing Dolly,  in  charming  perturbation,  upon  the  oc- 
casion of  receiving  too  much  attention  from  her 
president  friend.  It  was  at  one  of  the  Wlute 
House  dinners  to  which,  along  vdth  numerous 
other  guests,  the  new  British  minister,  Mr.  iMerr}^ 
and  his  wife  had  been  invited.  Mrs.  Merry,  who 
has  been  described  by  Aaron  Burr  as  a dame  “ tall, 
fair  and  fat,”  had  arrived  at  the  presidential  man- 
sion, elegantly  gowned  and  grandly  dignified,  in 
full  assurance  of  being  the  most  distinguished 
Avoman  present.  Dinner  was  announced  and  there- 
upon the  British  lady  glanced  toward  the  presi- 
dent, confident  that  she  Avas  to  go  out  upon  his 
arm.  But  IMr.  Jefferson,  in  seeming  unconscious- 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


19 


ness  of  her  existence,  rose  and  made  his  how  be- 
fore Mrs.  Madison. 

Dolly,  Avho  did  not  fail  to  note  the  angry  face  of 
the  ambassadress,  made  a gesture  of  protestation. 
“ Take  Mrs.  Merry,”  she  whispered  softly  in  the 
president's  ear.  Jefferson,  however,  refused  to 
obey  her  suggestion.  He  remained  standing  be- 
fore her,  smiling  but  firm.  So  Dolly  with  down- 
cast eyes  and  troubled  mien  was  forced  to  lead  the 
way  to  the  dining-room  on  the  president’s  arm, 
while  my  iady  ambassadress  followed  after  in  out- 
raged dignity.  Then,  as  ever  after  throughout 
Jefferson’s  administration,  Dolly,  often  against  her 
will,  presided  at  the  head  of  the  table. 

But  it  was  not  only  to  do  the  honors  of  the  Wlhte 
House  that  Dolly  was  called  to  the  president’s 
home.  Sometimes  she  Avas  summoned  as  a family 
friend.  When  she  came  in  that  character,  there 
Avas  gi’eat  rejoicing  tlu’oughout  the  household,  es- 
pecially among  the  grandchildren,  the  little  Ran- 
dolphs. Dolly’s  young  heart  and  sympathetic 
nature  made  her  a great  favorite  with  children. 
We  have  glimpses  of  her  seated  among  the  numer- 
ous small  Randolphs,  stitching  on  dollies’  dresses 
and  telling  entrancing  fairy  tales.  And  Avhenever 
Martha  Jefferson  Randolph  and  her  lively  young 
family  came  on  a visit  to  the  White  House,  Mrs. 
Madison  was  always  ready  to  go  shopping  for  them. 
We  hear  of  her  buying  sashes  and  jewelry  and,  as 
time  went  on,  even  Avedding-goAvns.  Sometimes 


20 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


she  would  carry  all  the  little  ones  off  for  a drive  in 
her  coach  and,  upon  one  memorahle  day,  she  gave 
them  new  dollies  all  round. 

It  is  small  wonder  that  the  Randolph  children 
regarded  her  as  a beautiful  fairy  godmother.  And 
in  their  admiration  of  her,  the  young  folks  were 
only  following  the  lead  of  their  older  relatives. 
Love  of  Dolly  was  universal  in  the  Jeffereon  family 
and  in  this  none  perhaps  went  further  than  the 
president  himself. 

Some  say  that  the  origin  of  Thomas  Jefferson’s 
regard  for  Dolly  Madison  lay  way  hack  in  the  days 
of  his  susceptible  hojdiood,  in  his  fondness  for  her 
mother,  the  lovely  Mary  Coles.  That  seems  to  be 
rather  too  general  a reason.  Thomas  J efferson  had 
numerous  youthful  flames  and  those  flames  had  still 
more  numerous  progeny.  However,  it  may  have 
been  partly  that  and  partly  his  friendship  for  i\Ir. 
Madison,  but  mostly,  I think,  it  was  Dolly’s  own 
sweetness  and  grace  that  won  the  affection  of  the 
great  Jefferson  and  gave  her  the  first  place  among 
his  guests  at  the  "White  House. 

It  was  not  only  at  the  White  House  that  Dolly 
did  the  honors.  Her  own  home  became  a favorite 
resort  for  the  wits  and  beauties,  the  artists  and 
statesmen  of  the  capital.  Long  before  the  days  of 
her  husband’s  presidency,  her  evening  receptions 
were  important  social  and  pohtical  events  ; and  this 
not  only  because  she  was  able  to  attract  by  reason 
of  her  high  position,  her  beaut}',  and  her  grace,  but 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


21 


because  of  her  power  to  make  others  attract.  Every 
one  appeared  at  his  best  in  Dolly’s  drawing-rooms. 
Her  merry  laugh  was  able  to  blow  away  auy  feeling 
of  ill  nature  and  the  offer  of  her  snuff  box  could 
appease  the  most  wounded  vanity.  Indeed,  under 
her  genial  influence,  all  enmity  vanished  and  men 
and  women  of  varied  and  inharmonious  tastes  be- 
came, so  Jefferson  declared,  like  the  members  of 
one  family. 

In  her  many  social  responsibilities,  Mrs.  Madison 
had  an  able  helper  in  her  sister  Anna  Payne.  Mistress 
Anna  had  grown  up  a bright,  lively  young  woman, 
like  Dolly,  fond  of  dress  and  gayety.  Indeed,  she 
was  in  every  way  a most  congenial  companion  for 
Mrs.  Madison  and  her  marriage  in  1804  to  Mr. 
Richard  Cutts,  a brilliant  young  congressman  from 
Maine,  left  a great  void  in  the  Madison  home. 

Of  that  time  of  separation,  Dolly  wrote  : “ One 
of  the  greatest  griefs  of  my  life  has  come  to  me  in 
the  parting  for  the  first  time  from  my  sister-child.” 
She  sought  to  console  herself  by  following  her 
“ dearest  Anna  ” along  the  line  of  the  wedding 
journey  with  loving  messages.  “I  shut  myself  up 
from  the  time  you  entered  the  stage  until  Saturday,” 
she  declared.  That  from  the  society-loving  Dolly ! 
And  when  the  young  bride  writes  of  the  entertain- 
ment she  and  her  husband  meet  with  along  their 
route,  Dolly  answers  with  affectionate  interest. 
“ How  delighted  I should  be,”  she  says,  “ to  accom- 
pany you  to  all  the  charming  places  you  mentioned, 


22 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


to  see  all  the  kind  people,  and  to  play  Loo  with 
hlrs.  Knox  ! ” She  rejoiced  to  hear  Anna  praised, 
and  writes  proudly : “ Ah,  my  dear,  you  little  know 
of  the  triumph  I feel  when  I hear  of  you  and  your 
husband  in  the  way  that  so  many  speak  of  you.  If 
Payne  were  married  and  gone  from  me  I could  not 
feel  more  sensibly  everytlring  that  regarded  him 
than  I do  for  you  both.”  And  her  letters  to  her 
sister  invariably  end  with  some  note  of  longing. 
“ Ah,  Anna,”  she  sighs,  “ I am  djdng  to  come  to 
your  country;  if  I could  only  he  with  you,  how 
glad  I should  he!” 

As  it  happened,  Dolly  did  not  go  to  her  sister’s 
“country,”  as  she  quaintly  called  the  new  State  of 
hlaine  in  those  days  of  travelling  coach  and  post- 
chaise.  But,  what  was  just  as  good,  her  sister  came 
to  hers.  Fortunately,  Anna  had  married  a Fruited 
States  representative,  and  a veiy  popular  one  at  that, 
so  for  many  years,  during  the  sessions  of  Congress, 
she  and  her  husband  lived  in  Washington.  Of  couree 
it  was  a great  pleasure  to  UNIX’s.  INIadison  to  have  her 
“ sister  child  ” for  so  near  a neiqhhor  and  much  of 
Dolly’s  time  was  spent  at  the  Cutts’  pleasant  home 
in  Lafayette  square.  She  might  often  he  seen  pick- 
ing gooseberries  and  currants  with  the  little  Cutts, 
her  nephews  and  nieces,  in  their  beautiful  great 
garden.  And  in  the  days  wLen  she  herself  was  mis- 
ti’ess  of  the  Wliite  House,  she  went  across  and  niu-sed 
them  all  through  an  attack  of  the  measles.  Xo  one 
was  a nicer  nurse  than  Aunt  Dolly  — such  was  the 
children’s  verdict. 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


23 


* 


Once,  and  that  was  before  the  time  of  her  neph- 
ews and  nieces,  Dolly  had  to  take  her  turn  at  being 
nursed.  She  injured  her  knee,  and  was  quite  crip- 
pled for  a while.  Of  course  Mr.  Madison  was  very 
much  worried  about  her  and  finally  left  his  affairs 
of  state  to  go  with  her  to  PhiladeljDhia  and  place 
her  under  the  care  of  Dr.  Physic.  The  famous 
surgeon,  of  name  so  pat,  cured  the  knee  but  it  took 
time  and  patience  and  Dolly  Avas  forced  to  lie  with 
her  knee  in  splints  and  be  waited  iipon. 

At  first  she  had  the  attendance  of  her  husband. 
“ Here  I am  on  my  bed,”  she  writes  her  sister, 
“ with  my  husband  sitting  anxiously  by  me,  Avho  is 
my  most  willing  nurse.”  But  official  duties  soon 
called  Mr.  Madison  back  to  Washington  and  so, 
for  almost  the  first  time  in  their  married  life,  Dolly 
and  her  husband  had  to  be  separated. 

Dolly,  of  course,  was  very  lonely  after  he  went 
away.  But  she  tried  to  console  herself  by  seeing 
her  old  Philadelphia  friends,  those  she  had  known 
since  her  girlhood,  and  by  keeping  up  a constant 
correspondence  with  Mr.  Madison. 

Pier  letters  to  her  husband  are  interesting,  as  re- 
vealing her  tenderness  of  heart  and  her  wifely  de- 
votion. One  sweet  little  note  must  be  quoted ; it 
describes  so  vividly  her  sad  state  of  mind  after  his 
departure. 

“A  few  hours  only  have  passed,”  she  writes, 
“ since  you  left  me,  my  beloved,  and  I find  nothing 
can  relieve  the  oppression  of  my  mind  but  speaking 


24 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


to  you  in  this  the  only  way.  Dr.  Physic  called  be- 
fore you  had  gone  far,  but  I could  only  find  voice 
to  tell  him  my  knee  felt  better.  Betsey  Pemberton 
and  Amy  (her  maid)  are  sitting  by  me  and  seem  to 
respect  the  grief  they  know  I feel  at  even  so  short 
a separation  from  one  who  is  all  to  me.  Betsey 
puts  on  your  hat  to  divert  me,  hut  I cannot  look  at 
her.” 

Dolly’s  letters,  in  general,  are  not  deep  or  intel- 
lectual hut  they  are  simple,  natural,  affectionate, 
with  pretty  turns  of  thought  and  expression  and  an 
indefinable  charm  that  is  Dolly’s  own.  And  these 
letters  are  hut  brief  glimpses  of  Dolly’s  self.  They 
help  us  to  know  what  manner  of  woman  she  was 
who,  as  mistress  of  the  White  House,  came  to  be 
regarded  as  the  most  popular  person  in  America. 

When  her  husband  became  president  in  1809, 
Mrs.  Madison  was  a beautiful  woman  of  forty,  ver^- 
wise  in  social  etiquette  and  knowledge  of  the  world. 
She  was  eminently  fitted  for  the  position  of  iMadam 
President,  more  so  even  than  either  of  her  predeces- 
sor's had  been.  Without  iMrs.  Adams’  intellectual 
ability  or  ]\Irs.  Wasliington’s  depth  of  character, 
Dolly  uirderstood  men  and  women  better  and  could 
make  herself  agreeable  to  all.  Then  too,  she  laiew 
how  to  be  delightfully  informal.  The  “ di’awing- 
rooms  ” that  had  been  pronounced  quite  dull  and 
formidable  hr  former  years  became,  under  her  skil- 
ful management,  most  enjoyable  affair’s. 

Large-hearted  irr  her  hospitality  as  in  all  thirrgs 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


25 


else,  she  was  “ at  home,”  so  it  was  said,  “ to  kings, 
presidents,  and  the  people  without  distinction  of 
persons  ; ” and  every  one  was  glad  to  attend  her  re- 
ceptions because  of  her  warm  welcome,  her  attrac- 
tive personality,  and  the  interesting  people  whom 
she  gathered  round  her.  Her  spangled  turban 
with  its  nodding  ostrich  plumes  was  her  crown  and 
her  snuff  box  was  her  sceptre.  With  such  insignia 
of  royalty,  she  moved  about  among  her  little  court 
of  admirers,  cleverly  blending  gracious  dignity  with 
a frank  condescension  and  queening  it  most  kindly 
over  all. 

An  amusing  incident  illustrative  of  her  ready 
tact  and  sympathy  has  come  down  to  us.  Among 
the  guests  at  the  White  House  one  evening  was  a 
bashful  young  fellow  from  the  country.  Mrs. 
Madison  observed  him  standing  neglected  and  em- 
barrassed in  one  corner  of  the  drawing-room  and 
smilingly  made  her  way  to  him  with  extended  hand. 
The  shy  youth,  wlio  had  just  been  served  with 
coffee,  started  at  her  sudden  approach  and,  in  his 
confusion,  dropped  his  saucer  and  tried  to  hide 
his  half-filled  cup  in  his  pocket.  “ How  the  crowd 
jostles  ! ” said  charming  Dolly.  “ Let  me  ask  the 
servant  to  bring  you  some  coffee.  And  how  is  your 
mother?  She  and  I were  friends,  you  know.” 

Such  little  acts  as  this  of  that  true  politeness  which 
comes  from  the  heart  was  what  made  Dolly  so  be- 
loved by  every  one.  No  one  could  long  feel  dis- 
composed in  her  presence.  Her  frank  cordiality 


26 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


and  simplicity  of  manner  always  swept  away  what- 
ever feelings  of  awe  she  might  inspire  as  Mistress 
President.  A story  is  told  of  two  old  ladies,  rural 
visitors  again,  who  in  great  trepidation  were  escorted 
to  the  White  House  hy  a friend  of  the  Madisons. 
They  arrived  early  in  the  morning  when  the  family 
were  at  breakfast.  Dolly  came  forward  to  receive 
them  in  her  plain  morning  gown,  with  her  usual 
warm  welcome  and  unaffected  grace.  Her  two 
rustic  visitors,  who  had  thought  of  her  only  as  a 
great  lady  who  must  he  approached  Avith  ceremony, 
were  instantly  put  at  their  ease  and  before  leaving 
one  of  them  found  courage  to  ask  shyly,  Perhaps 
you  would  n’t  mind  if  I kissed  you  ? — just  to  tell 
the  folks  at  home.” 

It  is  a pretty  little  tale  and  serves  to  illustrate 
how  it  was  that  Dolly  became  the  idol  of  the  com- 
mon people.  She  was  never  too  far  removed  from 
them  to  he  their  friend. 

She  was  always  the  unassuming  Virginia  lady. 
And  this  showed  in  her  ways  of  hospitality  as  in 
her  reception  of  her  guests.  Her  table  was  set  aud 
served  in  the  old  bountiful  Virginia  fashion.  A 
member  of  Congress  wrote  of  one  of  Dolly’s  din- 
ners that  it  was  “excellent”  and  told  of  numerous 
homely  dishes,  among  which  was  “ a large  ham  with 
the  cabbage  round,”  which,  he  said,  “ looked  like 
our  country  dishes  of  bacon  and  cabbage.” 

Foreigners  were  inclined  to  smile  at  Dolly’s  some- 
what rustic  notions  of  entertainment.  Jackson,  the 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


27 


British  minister,  wrote  home  of  his  amusement 
when,  during  a conference  with  President  Madison, 
a negro  servant  brought  in  a tray  plentifully  laden 
with  punch  and  seed  cake.  The  wife  of  another 
foreign  minister  laughed  at  the  size  and  number  of 
the  dishes  on  Mrs.  Madison’s  table  and  remarked 
sneeringly  that  the  dinner  was  very  like  “ a Harvest 
home  supper.” 

Of  course  Dolly  soon  learned  that  her  prodigal 
hospitality  was  being  ridiculed  by  those  from  abroad 
but  she  preserved  her  good  nature  and  her  good 
sense.  “ The  profusion  of  my  table  is  the  result  of 
the  prosperity  of  my  country,”  she  said  proudly, 
“ and  I shall  continue  to  prefer  Virginia  liberality 
to  European  elegance.” 

But  although  Mrs.  Madison  kept  to  the  old  sim- 
ple manners  and  habits,  she  adopted  a more  elabo- 
rate style  of  living  than  had  ever  before  been  known 
in  the  White  House.  Her  state  drawing-room 
with  its  yellow  satin  draperies,  its  stiff  sofas,  and 
high  backed  chairs,  was  considered  a most  magnifi- 
cent apartment  by  “ our  guileless  ancestors”  and 
her  coach,  drawn  by  four  beautiful  prancing  bays, 
was  an  object  of  admiring  wonder  whenever  the 
president’s  wife  drove  out  for  an  airing. 

Then,  too,  dress  grew  much  gayer  when  Dolly 
set  the  styles.  Upon  her  oAvn  costumes  she  spent 
a large  proportion  of  her  time  and  thought.  At  a 
period  when  the  world  was  shaken  with  Napoleonic 
conquests  and  tremendous  upheaval  of  states  and 


28 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


nations,  she  had  little  to  say  about  the  affairs  of 
the  universe.  “You  know  I am  not  much  of  a 
politician,”  she  confessed  in  a letter  to  her  hus- 
band. Her  mind  was  occupied  vdth  small  rather 
than  great  things.  The  latest  Parisian  finery  and 
clothes  in  general ; tliese  were  the  main  subjects  of 
her  discourse.  She  dismissed  the  Embargo  Act, 
the  likelihood  of  war,  Napoleon’s  last  victory,  and 
other  similar  trifles  with  slight  mention  and  went 
on  to  talk  elocj^uently  and  at  great  length  of  the 
real  interests  of  life : ribbons,  finery,  and  gowns. 

Of  course,  the  result  was  that  Dolly  was  always 
a vision  of  brilliancy  and  beauty.  If  we  may 
believe  the  dames  of  her  own  day,  her  gowns  must 
have  been  wonderful  triumphs  of  dressmaking  art. 
i\Irs.  William  Seaton  describes  her  appearance  on 
the  evening  of  a New  Year’s  reception  at  the 
White  House  as  being  “ truly  regal.”  “ Her 
majesty”  was  dressed,  so  the  lady  declares,  “in  a 
robe  of  pink  satin  trimmed  elaborately  with  ermine, 
a white  velvet  and  satin  turban  with  nodding 
ostrich  plumes,  and  a crescent  in  front,  gold  chains 
and  clasps  around  the  waist  and  wrists.”  And 
tlien  in  praise  of  “ Her  iMajesty,”  iMi-s.  Seaton  con- 
tinues, “ ’ T is  here  the  woman  who  adorns  the 
dress  and  not  the  dress  that  beautifies  the  Avoman. 
I cannot  conceive  a female  better  calculated  to 
dignify  the  station  which  she  occupies  than  iMrs. 
iMadison.  Amiable  in  priAaite  life,  affable  hi  pub- 
lic, she  is  admired  and  esteemed  by  the  rich  and 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


29 


beloved  by  the  poor.  You  are  aware  that  she 
snuffs,  but  in  her  hands  the  snuff-box  seems  only  a 
gracious  complement  witli  which  to  charm.” 

Mrs.  Seaton’s  eulogy  of  Mrs.  Madison’s  is  one  of 
the  many  showered  upon  “ Queen  Dolly  ” by  all 
who  came  to  Washington  and  gained  enti’ance  to 
the  White  House.  Among  these  numerous  pane- 
gyrics is  one  by  an  especially  interesting  pen.  Our 
first  real  man  of  letters,  Washington  Irving,  when 
young  and  comparatively  unknown,  visited  the 
capital  and  has  not  failed  to  leave  an  entertaining 
account  of  his  introduction  to  Dolly  Madison  and 
Washington  society. 

“ I arrived  at  the  Inn  about  dusk,”  he  says, 
“ and  understanding  that  Mrs.  Madison  was  to  have 
her  levee  that  very  evening,  I swore  hy  all  the 
gods  I would  be  there.”  Being  of  an  “ enterpris- 
ing spirit,”  he  inquired  about  until  he  found  a man 
who  would  present  him  at  the  “ Sublime  Port.” 
Then  he  straightway  made  his  preparations  for  the 
great  event,  “ popped  ” his  head  in  the  hands  of  a 
barber,  put  on  his  “j)ease  blossoms  and  silk  stock- 
ings, girt  up  his  loins,  and  sallied  forth  like  a 
vagabond  knight  errant.”  At  length  “ he  emerged 
from  dirt  and  darkness  into  the  blazing  splen- 
dor of  Mrs.  Madison’s  drawing-room.”  “ Here,” 
he  goes  on  to  narrate,  “ I was  most  graciously  re- 
ceived, found  a crowded  collection  of  great  and 
little  men,  of  ugly  old  women  and  beautiful  young 
ones,  and  in  ten  minutes  was  hand  in  glove  with 


30 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


half  the  people  in  the  assemblage.  Mrs.  Madison 
is  a fine,  portly,  buxom  dame,  who  has  a smile  and 
a pleasant  word  for  everybody.  Her  sisters,  Mrs. 
Ciitts  and  Mrs.  Washington,  are  like  the  two 
‘ Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,’  but  as  to  Jemmy 
Madison  — • Ah,  poor  Jemmy,  he  is  but  a withered 
little  apple  John.” 

From  this  it  may  be  seen  that  Dolly  had  found 
favor  with  Washington  Irving  as  with  ever}'  one. 
But  her  husband,  “ poor  Jemmy,”  was  not  so  kindly 
dealt  with  by  the  pert  young  critic.  And,  indeed, 
IMadison’s  appearance  in  public  was  not  such  as  to 
inspire  admiration.  He  was  unbenchng,  argument- 
ative, severe.  “ His  looks,”  wrote  one  of  his  con- 
temporaries, “ announce  the  censor,”  and  another 
said  of  him,  “ he  resembles  a Roman  cardinal.” 
However,  all  this  austerity  vanished  when,  as 
Dolly’s  husband,  he  came  to  her  an  hour  before 
dinner  for  a pleasant  chat  with  her  and  her  friends. 
Then  he  was  a different  man,  sociable,  smiling,  full 
of  anecdote  and  when  he  left,  it  was  always  with  a 
tender  whisper  to  his  wife,  “ You  have  rested  me, 
my  dear.” 

For  her  husband,  Dolly  could  always  create 
home.  With  her  son,  however,  it  was  different. 
Payne  was  now  a handsome,  charming  young  fellow, 
a great  favorite  in  society.  But  he  was  developing 
a tendency  to  wildness  that  frightened  his  mother. 
She  sought  in  every  way  to  hold  his  interest.  She 
filled  the  house  with  lively  yoiuig  company ; she 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


31 


drove  to  the  races  with  him  behind  her  four-in- 
hand  of  splendid  hays ; and  with  her  husband’s 
help  she  tried  to  interest  him  in  study  and  planned 
a college  career  for  him.  Yet  Payne,  like  the 
graceless  scamp  he  was,  paid  little  heed  to  his 
mother’s  attentions.  He  stayed  away  from  home 
and  thought  of  nothing  hut  his  own  pleasure. 

So  it  was  not  Payne,  hut  Anna’s  husband, 
Richard  Cntts,  who  was  the  helpful  son  of  the 
Madison  home  when  trouble  came.  And  trouble 
did  come  in  full  measure  to  Dolly  and  her  husband. 
This  was  during  the  anxious  years  of  the  war  of 
1812. 

Throughout  the  conflict,  Madison  had  enemies 
within  the  nation  as  well  as  without,  and  there  were 
those  who  called  it  “ Jemmy  Madison’s  war,”  assailed 
it  as  unwise,  unnecessary,  and  untimed,  and  let  loose 
all  their  bitterness  upon  their  unfortunate  president. 
He  was  blamed  for  victory  and  defeat  alike,  evil 
motives  were  attributed  to  all  his  acts,  and  flerce 
invectives  were  hurled  at  his  character. 

In  this  time  of  great  trial,  Dolly’s  sterling  qual- 
ities were  proved.  She  stood  by  her  husband, 
loyal,  watchful,  helpful.  She  was  cheerful  in  de- 
feat and  radiant  at  the  news  of  victory,  inspiring 
all  with  her  belief  in  final  success.  Her  popularity 
was  a great  aid  to  her  husband.  If  it  did  not  save 
his  administration,  at  least  it  did  much  toward 
23rocuring  his  re-election.  She  invited  men  of  all 
parties  and  opinions  to  her  home  and  for  a time 


32 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


compelled  them  to  forget  their  animosities.  And 
by  her  unobtrusive  attentions  to  the  wives  and 
families  of  her  husband’s  opponents,  she  quieted 
many  jealousies  and  disaffections. 

Mrs.  Seaton,  who  has  already  been  quoted  in 
praise  of  Mrs.  Madison,  was  one  of  the  wives  whom 
Dolly  captivated,  thereby  winning  Mr.  Seaton,  the 
chief  of  the  “National  Intelligencer,”  a most 
powerful  journal,  to  the  Madison  cause.  From  ]\Irs. 
Seaton’s  own  account,  amusing  in  its  pleased 
vanity  and  naivete,  we  may  observe  Dolly’s  clever- 
ness in  gaining  influential  friends  for  her  husband 
and  at  the  same  time  we  may  behold  the  delightful 
Dolly,  in  the  character  of  hostess,  most  vividly 
presented.  Having  heard  that  IMrs.  Seaton  was  in 
the  capital,  we  are  told,  Mrs.  Madison  at  one  of  her 
levees  “ inquired  graciously  for  her  of  a relation 
who  was  present.”  That  was  the  first  step.  Soon 
after  Mrs.  Seaton  and  “William,”  her  husband,  re- 
ceived invitations  to  a formal  dinner  at  the  White 
House.  Upon  IMrs.  Seaton’s  arrival  at  the  presi- 
dential home,  Mrs.  IMadison,  we  are  informed, 
“ very  handsomely  came  to  her  and  led  her  nearest 
the  fire,  introduced  her  to  another  guest,  and  sat 
down  between  them,  talking  on  familiar  subjects, 
by  her  own  ease  and  manners  making  every  one  feel 
at  home.”  At  dinner  a certain  dame  “by  privilege 
of  age  ” sat  at  the  right  of  the  hostess,  hut  Mrs. 
Seaton  was  given  the  next  seat.  As  soon  as  the 
candles  were  brought  in,  the  ladies  withdrew  and 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


33 


while  they  were  in  the  drawing-room  waiting  for 
the  gentlemen  to  join  them,  Mrs.  Madison  induced 
Mrs.  Seaton  to  play  a waltz  upon  the  grand  piano 
while  she  herself  taught  one  of  her  jmuiig  guests  a 
new  step  in  the  dance.  Finally,  in  sauntered  the 
gentlemen  and  then  all  adjourned  to  the  tea-room, 
where  they  passed  several  hours  in  pleasant  chat, 
always  led  hy  Mrs.  Madison  and  ranging  from 
Shakespeare  to  musical  glasses. 

After  that  delightful  evening,  Mrs.  Seaton  could 
not  restrain  her  enthusiasm  ovei'  Mrs.  kladison. 
“ I could  describe  the  dignified  appearance  of  Mrs. 
Madison,”  she  declared,  “hut  I could  not  do  her 
justice.  It  is  not  her  form,  it  is  not  her  face.  It 
is  the  woman  altogether  that  I would  have  you  see.” 

When  this  was  written,  Dolly  was  still  a bloom- 
ing matron.  Indeed,  her  youthful  appearance  was 
a matter  of  much  talk  and  conjecture  among  those 
who  visited  the  capital.  Some  declared  that  she 
was  not  above  other  fashionable  women  of  her  day 
in  the  use  of  those  “ foreign  aids  of  ornament,” 
rouge  and  powder.  One  of  Dolly’s  friends,  even, 
admitted  that  she  supposed  Mrs.  Madison  employed 
such  artifice,  but  if  she  did,  declared  the  loyal  advo- 
cate, it  was  for  no  vain  motive  but  merely  to  give 
pleasure  to  those  who  looked  at  her.  Mrs.  Seaton, 
however,  was  not  of  the  opinion  of  those  who 
thought  such  things  of  Dolly.  “ Mrs.  Madison  is 
said  to  rouge,”  she  wrote,  “ hut  it  is  not  evident  to 
my  eyes  and  I do  not  think  it  is  true,  as  I am  well 


34 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


assured  I saw  her  color  come  and  go  at  the  naval 
ball,  when  the  ‘ IMacedonian  ’ flag  was  presented  to 
her  by  young  Hamilton.” 

This  naval  hall  which  Mrs.  Seaton  mentions 
was  an  occasion  of  great  pride  and  rejoicing  for  all 
good  Americans  who  attended  and  it  must  have 
been  especially  so  for  Mrs.  l\Iadison.  As  we  read 
of  her  part  in  it,  we  do  not  wonder  that  those  who 
were  present  could  see  “ her  color  come  and  go.” 
It  was  after  the  victories  over  the  “ Alert  ” and  the 
“ Guerriere  ” and  the  hall  was  being  held  in  cele- 
bration of  these  conquests.  The  hall  room  was 
brilliantly  decorated  with  the  flags  of  the  captured 
vessels  and  a gay,  distinguished  company  had 
gathered  there  to  make  merry  in  their  hour  of  tri- 
umph. Suddenly  there  was  a great  stir  about  the 
doorway  and  the  next  moment  young  Lieutenant 
Hamilton,  son  of  the  secretary  of  the  navy,  entered 
the  room,  bearing  the  flag  of  still  another  conquered 
battleship,  the  “ Macedonian.”  Amid  loud  cheers 
and  the  joyous  playing  of  national  music,  he  made 
liis  way  through  the  throng  and  up  to  IMis.  IMadi- 
son  and  kneeling  before  her,  he  laid  the  flag  at  her 
feet. 

All  war  times,  however,  were  not  so  happy  for 
Dolly  Madison  as  that  evening  of  the  naval  battle. 
Durino’  l\Ir.  IMadison’s  second  term  of  office  came 

O 

days  of  suspense  and  danger.  The  President  was 
a p'reat  statesman  hut  he  knew  verv  little  about 

O *■ 

war  and  those  who  were  associated  with  him  were 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


35 


as  inefficient  as  he  in  military  science.  The 
“ door  ” of  the  capital  was  allowed  to  stand  invit- 
ingly open.  And  so  it  was  a very  easy  matter  for 
the  British  to  walk  in  and  take  possession. 

It  was  on  a sultry  August  day  that  the  English 
fleet  sailed  up  the  Chesapeake  and  anchored  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Potomac.  At  sight  of  the  enemy’s 
ships,  Washington  presented  a spectacle  very  much 
“like  Brussels  before  Waterloo.”  People  scurried 
about  hiding  their  silver  and  jewels.  All  available 
carts  were  employed  in  conveying  valuables  out  of 
the  city.  And  an  endless  procession  of  coaches 
and  chaises  with  flurried-looking  occupants  went 
streaming  out  of  the  capital. 

Mr.  Madison  with  his  secretaries  was  at  Bladens- 
berg,  the  held  of  battle,  and  Dolly  was  unwilling 
to  leave  Washington  until  he  returned.  In  sj)ite 
of  her  great  anxiety,  she  kept  brave  and  cheerful 
and  even  planned  a dinner  party  for  the  night 
which  was  to  witness  the  burning  of  the  capital. 
She  saw  one  official  after  another  go  out  of  the 
city  but  heroically  refused  to  desert  her  post,  al- 
though the  British  admiral  sent  her  the  startling 
word  that  he  would  make  his  bow  in  her  drawing- 
room. Not  until  a messenger  from  her  husband 
arrived,  crying,  “ Clear  out,  clear  out ; General 
Armstrong  has  ordered  a retreat,”  did  she  turn  her 
back  upon  the  White  House.  And  even  then,  in 
the  moment  of  a hurried  and  distracting  departure, 
she  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  secure  the  Stuart 


36 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  3IADIS0N. 


portrait  of  Washington  that  hung  upon  the  dining- 
room wall.  As  the  great  picture  could  not  be 
easily  unscrewed,  she  gave  directions  to  have  the 
frame  broken  witlr  an  axe,  and  having  thus  re- 
moved the  precious  canvas,  she  sent  it  off  to  a 
place  of  safety  in  Georgetovm.  She  also  took  time 
to  save  a carriage-load  of  Cabinet  papers  and  the 
White  House  silver.  Then,  reluctantly,  she  took 
her  dejjarture.  “ I longed  instead,”  she  affirmed 
with  spiiit,  “ to  have  a cannon  through  every  wm- 
dow.” 

She  had  barely  escaped  the  marauding  British 
troops,  for  it  was  only  a few  hours  later  that  they 
entered  Washington  and  set  fire  to  the  Capitol.  By 
the  lurid  light  of  that  burning  building,  the  destroy- 
ing army  marched  down  the  two  miles  of  Penn- 
sylvania avenue  to  the  White  House.  There  they 
partook  of  the  wines  and  viands  that  had  been 
designed  for  poor  Dolly’s  dinner  party  and  after 
their  feast  they  pillaged  the  house  and  made  a 
bonfire  of  the  president’s  mansion.  It  was  a costly 
bonfire  that  lighted  up  the  midnight  sky  for  manj' 
miles  around. 

Dolly,  meanwhile,  Avith  her  little  train  of  fol- 
loAvers,  Avas  journeying  on  to  meet  Madison, 
as  some  pencilled  notes  from  him  had  directed.  All 
through  the  next  day  she  travelled  and  at  night 
she  came  to  the  appointed  place.  Here  she  was 
met  Avith  insult.  The  inn  was  filled  with  fugitiAms 
from  the  capital  who  “ denounced  the  president  as 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


37 


the  cause  of  the  war  and  refused  to  admit  his  wife, 
though  some  of  them  had  dined  at  her  table  the 
week  before.”  In  their  fierce  anger  against  Madi- 
son at  this  last  disaster  of  the  war,  even  their  be- 
loved “ Queen  Dolly  ” was  not  exempt,  since  she 
was  guilty  of  having  married  him.  It  looked  as 
if  she  would  have  to  spend  the  night  without 
shelter.  At  the  approach  of  a furious  thunder 
storm,  however,  amid  the  darkness  and  crashing 
trees,  the  inn  people  became  more  merciful  and 
finally  opened  the  door  to  admit  her. 

Late  in  the  night  the  president  arrived  pale  and 
tired,  but  safe.  So  Dolly  was  happy.  Yet  hardly 
had  he  been  made  comfortable  when  a messenger 
came  hurrying  to  the  tavern  with  the  warning  that 
the  British  had  discovered  his  hiding-place.  And 
again  he  was  forced  to  go  out  and  take  refuge  in  a 
hovel  in  the  forest. 

At  daybreak,  Mrs.  Madison,  in  disguise,  started 
out  to  join  her  husband.  But  before  noon  the 
joyful  news  was  received  that  the  British,  awe- 
struck by  the  terrible  storm  which  followed  their 
conflagration,  had  evacuated  Washington.  Those 
amazing  war  happenings,  which  to  us  in  our  later 
century  read  like  a comedy  of  errors,  had  come  to 
an  end  and  once  more  the  city  was  open  to  its 
rightful  sovereigns. 

When  the  President  and  Mrs.  Madison  returned 
to  the  capital,  they  found  it  robbed  of  its  glory  and 
their  own  home  a smoking  ruin.  They  rented  a 


38 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


house  at  the  corner  of  10th  street  and  New  York 
avenue,  called  “The  Octagon,”  and  there  was 
signed  the  Treaty  of  Ghent,  which  put  an  end  to 
that  second  conflict  with  Great  Britain. 

The  reception  given  hy  the  president  and  Mrs. 
Madison  to  celebrate  the  signing  of  the  treaty  is 
pictured  hy  contemporaries  as  the  most  brilhant 
ever  held  in  Waslrington.  The  gowned  justices 
were  there,  foreigners  splendid  in  their  court  cos- 
tumes, and  gayly  uniformed  officers  fresh  from  the 
field  of  battle.  “ But  the  most  conspicuous  in  all 
the  room,”  declared  one  who  Avas  present,  “ the 
observed  of  all  the  observers,  Avas  Mrs.  Madison.” 
Happy  in  the  prospect  of  j^eace  and  the  restored 
popularity  of  her  husband,  she  passed  from  group 
to  group,  exchanging  heartfelt  congratulations  Avith 
every  one  and  radiating  an  atmosphere  of  joy  and 
good  Avill.  Mr.  Bagot,  the  new  British  ambassador, 
Avho  was  among  the  guests,  exclaimed  in  admiration 
as  he  watched  her,  “ Mrs.  Machson  is  eAmry  inch  a 
queen.” 

In  the  days  of  general  rejoicing  that  foUoAved  the 
declaration  of  peace  IMr.  Madison’s  official  blunders 
Avere  forgotten  and  Dolly  became  more  popular  than 
ever  before.  The  soldiers,  returning  home  from 
their  long  seiudce,  stopped  before  her  home  to  cheer. 
Her  receptions  in  her  neAV  home  were  more  bril- 
liantly attended  than  those  of  the  AYhite  House  had 
been.  And  the  gayeties  of  the  “Peace  MTnter,” 
instituted  hy  Queen  Dolly,  formed  a memorable 
epoch  in  the  annals  of  Washington  societjv 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


39 


At  the  end  of  Madison’s  administration,  Dolly 
went  home  to  Montpelier,  followed  by  the  kind 
wishes  and  loving  thoughts  of  all  who  knew  her. 
Like  Washington,  John  Adams,  and  Jefferson, 
Madison  returned  gladly  to  his  library  and  farm. 
And  Dolly,  too,  was  happy  in  the  change.  She  was 
not  weak  or  vain  and  so  did  not  repine  for  the  ex- 
citement and  adulation  to  which  she  had  been  so 
long  accustomed ; hut  instead  she  entered  cheer- 
fully into  the  simple  duties  and  pleasures  of  her 
country  home. 

There  comes  a vision  of  this  quondam  society 
queen,  enveloped  in  great  apron  and  broad-brimmed 
hat,  her  hand  raised  to  shield  her  eyes  from  the 
morning  sun,  walking  among  her  fruits  and  flowers ; 
and  beside  her  a little  black  boy  carrying  a basket 
in  which  fall  her  gatherings  of  ripe  plums  and 
peaches,  roses  of  beautiful  hues  and  fragrance,  and 
the  pink  oleander  blossoms,  her  favorite  flowers. 

And  when  we  follow  Mrs.  Madison  within  doors, 
we  find  her  busy  and  unselfish.  She  devoted  her- 
self to  Mr.  Madison’s  invalid  mother,  an  interesting 
old  lady,  who  used  to  say  affectionately  of  Dolly, 
“ she  is  my  mother  now.”  She  did  all  she  could  to 
save  her  husband,  who,  at  the  end  of  the  presidency, 
was  left  frail  and  care-worn.  She  read  to  him  and 
acted  as  his  amanuensis  and  was  full  of  little  wifely 
attentions,  dressing  his  hair  into  a queue  with  pow- 
der every  morning  and  setting  his  cap  becomingly 
at  all  hours. 


40 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


The  responsibilities  of  hospitality  were  always 
with  her.  She  writes  at  one  time  of  having  ninety 
peisons  to  dine  at  a table  fixed  under  a large  arbor 
on  the  lawn.  Visitors  were  constantly  coming  and 
going  at  Montpelier.  And  they  brought  news  and 
learning  with  them.  Dolly  became  quite  cosmo- 
politan through  the  medium  of  hei-  guests.  Though 
she  could  not  travel  to  see  the  world,  she  had  the 
world  to  see  her. 

No  visitors  were  more  welcome  at  Montpelier 
than  the  young  people,  Dolly’s  nephews  and  nieces. 
The  children  used  to  make  bead  rings  for  the  pres- 
ident. The  girls  lent  tlieir  aunt  books  which,  if 
the  truth  must  be  told,  the  unliterary  Dolly  re- 
turned half  read  or  with  the  verdict,  “stupid.” 
They  told  her  of  the  Washington  styles  and 
answered  her  queries  as  to  “ how  turbans  are  pinned 
up,  how  bonnets  are  worn,  as  well  as  how  to  behave 
in  the  mode.”  Dolly  listened  to  their  accounts 
with  interest  and  aftei'  they  had  finished  declared 
laughingly  that  she  had  grown  very  “ old-fash- 
ioned,” would  not  know  how  to  conform  to  the 
formal  rules  of  society,  and  would  disgrace  herself 
“ by  rushing  about  among  her  friends  at  all  hours.” 

One  of  the  young  men,  Dolly’s  nephew,  ^ladison 
Cutts,  came  to  Montpelier  on  his  wedding-journey. 
That  was  when  iMr.  Madison  was  very  feeble  and 
confined  to  his  apartment.  But  at  dinner  the  courtly 
old  gentleman  advanced  to  the  doorway  of  Iris 
room,  which  opened  into  the  dinmg-hall,  and  stand- 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


41 


ing  there  he  drank  to  the  health  of  the  bride. 
Perhaps  it  was  with  a thought  of  that  other  bride 
whom  he  had  brought  to  Montpelier  forty  years 
before. 

Among  the  young  people  who  made  Montpelier 
merry,  one  was  almost  always  absent.  That  was 
Dolly  Madison’s  son,  Payne  Todd.  His  poor 
mother  heard  of  him  only  through  friends  and  from 
mention  of  him  in  the  newspapers.  She  wrote  to 
him  pathetically,  “ I am  ashamed  to  tell  when  asked 
how  long  my  only  child  has  been  absent  from  the 
home  of  his  mother ! ” 

It  was  this  worthless  spendthrift  son  who  saddened 
Dolly  Madison’s  last  years.  In  her  widowhood, 
which  was  lived  at  Washington,  he  squandered  his 
own  fortune  and  hers  and  the  proceeds  of  the  Mont- 
pelier estate.  She  who  had  so  long  been  sovereign 
of  the  social  world  was  forced  to  endure  endless 
privation  and  distress.  Yet  she  bore  her  sufferings 
so  bravely  and  cheerfully  that  it  was  long  before 
the  world  knew  of  her  great  need.  Then,  when 
the  discovery  was  made.  Congress  voted  her  twenty 
thousand  dollars  for  Mr.  Madison’s  manuscripts, 
guarding  the  sum  from  her  son  by  trustees. 

In  her  last  days  Mrs.  Madison  was  as  great  a 
favorite  as  ever.  One  who  knew  at  that  time  wrote 
of  her,  “Mrs.  Madison  is  a particular  pet,  being 
only  four  score  years.”  And  as  if  the  country 
could  not  do  enough  to  show  what  respect-  it  felt 
for  her.  Congress  voted  her  the  franking  privilege 


42 


DOROTHEA  PAYNE  MADISON. 


and  a seat  on  tlie  floor  of  the  House,  an  honor  which 
had  never  before  been  granted  to  a woman. 

She  was  lovely  in  her  old  age.  One  who  saw  her 
then  described  her  as  “ eminently  beautiful,  with  a 
complexion  as  fresh  and  fair  as  that  of  an  English 
girl.”  A dignified  and  graceful  flgure  in  her  black 
velvet  gown  and  white  turban,  a soft  scarf  about 
her  neck,  she  was  always  the  centre  of  attraction 
wherever  she  went.  Her  home  in  Lafayette  square 
was  to  the  president’s  mansion  like  the  home  of  a 
dowager  queen.  As  once  she  had  received  the 
heroes  of  the  Revolution,  so  now  she  opened  her 
doors  to  the  generals  of  the  war  of  1812  and  the 
jMexican  war.  The  bride  of  Washington’s  ad- 
ministration had  become  “■  the  venerable  iMrs.  Mad- 
ison ” of  President  Polk’s,  but  with  the  charm  and 
cordiality  of  former  times  she  continued  to  welcome 
all  who  gathered  round  her. 

Her  last  appearance  in  public  was  at  a White 
House  reception,  when  she  passed  through  the 
crowded  rooms  on  the  arm  of  President  Polk.  It 
was  an  appropriate  exit  for  “Queen  Dolly,”  recall- 
ing vividly  the  time  when,  on  the  arm  of  Thomas 
Jefferson,  she  had  first  done  the  lionoi-s  of  the  Wliite 
House  and  taken  her  place  as  sovereign  lady  of  the 
land.  And  as  she  had  come  into  the  social  world, 
so  she  went  from  it,  in  smiling,  gracious  dignity, 
carrying  with  her  the  admiration  and  love  of  her 
American  subjects. 


II. 


SARAH  JAY, 

WQ^E  OF  JOHN  JAY. 


Born  in  New  York,  August,  1757. 
Died  at  Bedford,  N.Y.,  May  28,  1802. 


“ She  exhibited  from  her  youth,  amid  trial  and  hardship,  a 
steadfast  devotion  to  her  country,  and  amid  the  gay  society  of 
Paris  and  Neiv  York  preserved  unimpaired  her  gentleness,  ami- 
ability, and  simplicity.”  — John  Jay^  Jr. 

“ I AM  going  to  let  in  some  of  the  air  and  moon- 
light of  this  beautiful  night,  my  guests,”  said  Mrs. 
Jay  and,  as  she  spoke,  she  opened  the  door  that 
led  out  upon  the  terrace  of  her  pleasant  villa  at 
Challiot. 

“ How  mild  your  French  weather  is,”  she  com- 
mented. “At  home  ’tis  never  like  this  in  Janu- 
ary,” and  she  lingered  a moment  looking  out  into 
the  clear  bright  night,  a graceful  figure  in  her  high 
head  dress  and  brilliant  evening  gown. 

The  scene  that  stretched  before  her,  the  stone 
court  and  winding  garden  paths,  the  grassy  slopes 
and  distant  river-view,  lay  white  and  still  in  the 
soft  light.  Her  glance  rested  upon  it  musingly, 
while  her  thoughts  went  back  to  other  January 
moons  which  had  seen  her  skating  on  the  Hudson 


43 


44 


SARAH  JAY. 


or  sleighing  over  the  rough  country  roads  of  her 
New  Jersey  home. 

She  was  recalled  to  the  present  by  the  merry 
raillery  of  her  guests  who  sat,  cosily  sipping  their 
tea,  in  her  pretty  pink  and  white  salon.  They  had 
turned  toward  her  in  smiling  recognition  of  her 
abstraction. 

“ La  belle  Americaine  is  sad,”  they  remarked  in 
teasing  tones,  using  the  name  by  which  she  had 
come  to  be  known  in  Paris  cu’cles ; “ she  is  home- 
sick for  her  husband.” 

i\Irs.  Jay  protested  with  a gay  laugh  and,  shut- 
ting out  the  moonlight  scene,  returned  to  her  seat 
among  them. 

“I  Avish  that  Mr.  Jay  Avere  here  to-night  to  see 
you  all,”  she  said  cordially ; “ he  loves  an  evening 
like  this  spent  in  his  own  home  Avith  a fcAV  chosen 
friends  about  him.” 

The  “ fcAv  chosen  friends  ” nodded  their  grati- 
tude over  their  tea  cups  and  Madame  La  Fayette 
inquired  Avith  interest,  “ What  do  you  hear  from 
him  in  England  ? ” 

“ He  is  very  lively  and  much  improAmd  in 
health,”  replied  the  young  AAufe.  “ He  talks  of 
coming  hack  soon.  I flatter  myself  I shall  not  he 
forced  to  remain  much  longer  in  tliis  state  of 
widoAvhood,”  and  then  ol)serAdng  Dr.  Franklin  who 
sat  near  her,  “ Noav  I AAmuld  like  to  know  Avhat  our 
philosopliic  friend  means  hy^  that  quizzical  look  of 
his.” 


SARAH  JAY. 


45 


The  doctor  had  finished  his  tea  and  was  leaning 
back  in  his  easy  chair,  his  arms  folded,  regarding 
his  pretty  hostess  with  an  amnsed  expression  that 
forboded  mischief.  He  smiled  blandly  in  answer 
to  her  query. 

“ I was  wondering,”  he  said,  “ if  your  husband’s 
letters  told  you  aught  of  the  English  ladies  and 
their  charms.” 

Mrs.  Jay  flashed  a merry  look  at  him.  She  knew 
his  words  to  be  a challenge  to  her  loyalty.  For  the 
doctor  often  enjoyed  an  old  friend’s  privilege  of 
makinaf  fun  of  her  devotion  to  her  husband. 

“I  see  your  design,”  she  retorted.  “ But  ’twill 
not  do.  You  cannot  make  me  jealous.” 

The  doctor  shook  his  head  pityingly  at  her. 
“ You  poor  deluded  young  woman,”  he  remarked. 
“ Do  you  still  have  faith  in  that  man’s  constancy  ? 
Reflect,  only  reflect  on  his  long  absence  from  you.” 

“ But  I am  not  a poor  deluded  young  woman,” 
protested  Mrs.  Jay,  “I  have  reflected  and  I much 
resfret  that  the  sore  throat  for  which  he  went  to 
Bath  could  not  have  been  cured  more  speedily.” 

“ Do  you  believe  in  that  sore  throat  ? ” 

“ I do,  and  in  my  husband.  You  see  mine  is  a 
more  trusting  philosopliy  than  yours,  sir,”  and  Mrs. 
Jay  held  up  her  head  with  an  air  of  proud  confi- 
dence, very  pretty  and  amusing. 

Dr.  Franklin’s  eyes  twinkled  merrily  as  they 
always  did  when  Mrs.  Jay  became  defiant.  “A 
more  trusting  philosophy  because  the  philosopher 


46 


SARAH  JAY. 


herself  is  so  young,”  he  returned  and  then,  running 
his  fingers  significantly  tlu’ough  his  white  locks, 
“ but  not  so  true  as  that  of  an  old,  experienced 
hoary  head  like  me.” 

Mrs.  Jay  made  a slight  gesture  of  obeisance. 

“In  all  things  else,  my  learned  friend,  I bow 
before  your  superior  wisdom,”  she  answered,  “ but 
in  an  understanding  of  my  husband  I claim  to  be 
the  wiser  and  more  expei’ienced  hoary  head.” 

At  this  the  company,  who  had  been  listeners 
throughout  the  dispute,  broke  into  light  applause 
and  one  of  Franklin’s  young  grandsons  remarked 
with  a sly  look,  “ Ah,  grandfather,  you  had  best 
give  over ; you  cannot  change  Mrs.  Jay.” 

“No,”  chuckled  the  doctor,  “she  is  like  the  rest 
of  us  Americans.  She  will  not  he  beaten.  How- 
ever, I have  not  done  -with  her  yet.”  And  he 
brought  from  his  pocket  several  small  pieces  of 
steel,  which  he  laid  on  the  table  before  him. 

The  company  gathered  round,  ready  for  one  of 
the  doctor’s  amusing  pranks.  “ I am  going  to  give 
you  an  object  lesson,”  he  explained,  smiling  up  in 
the  face  of  Mrs.  Jay,  who  stood  beside  his  chair. 
And  he  straightway  entered  upon  it. 

“ This,”  said  he,  pointing  to  one  of  the  pieces  of 
steel,  “ we  will  suppose  to  he  Mr.  Jay,  and  this,” 
pointing  to  another,  “ Mrs.  Jay.  Now  when  we 
take  Mr.  Jay  and  place  him  near  ^Irs.  Jay,  thus,  he 
is  attracted,  you  see,  and  presently  they  are  united. 
But  Avhen,  on  the  other  hand,  we  take  the  same 


SARAH  JAY. 


47 


Mr.  Jay  and  place  him  near  another,  whom  we  will 
call  an  English  lady,  behold  the  same  elfect ! ” 

A general  burst  of  laughter  greeted  the  doctor’s 
object  lesson.  Immediately  the  company  turned 
to  Mrs.  Jay,  pretending  sympathy  for  her  and 
indignation  against  her  husband.  “ Mr.  Jay’s  per- 
fidy is  proved,”  they  declared  in  mock  solemnity 
and  wrath.  “ You  must  avenge  yourself.” 

But  Mrs.  Jay  shook  her  head  decidedly.  “ I 
will  not  be  beaten,”  she  protested  gayly.  “ I still 
have  faith  in  my  husband.” 

In  the  midst  of  the  general  merriment,  a sound 
was  heard  from  without,  a sharp  sound,  like  the 
scraping  of  carriage  wheels,  and  the  next  instant 
the  noise  of  hoof  beats  rang  out  on  the  stone  court 
below.  There  was  a sudden  lull  in  the  company. 
“You  are  to  liave  a late  visitor,  Mrs.  Jay,”  some 
one  remarked. 

Mrs.  Jay  nodded  and  then,  as  she  heard  a voice 
without  speak  a few  words  as  though  of  direction, 
her  face  lighted  with  sudden  pleasure  and  surprise. 
“ Yes,  and  I think  I know  Avho  it  is,”  she  said. 
“Your  pardon  a moment,  my  guests,”  and  hastily 
throwing  a light  scarf  about  her  shoulders,  she 
Avent  out  upon  the  terrace. 

She  stood,  a distinct  figure  against  the  lighted 
window,  her  dress  glimmering  strangely  white  and 
tlie  brilliants  sparkling  in  her  hair,  just  as  a young 
man  mounted  the  steps  to  the  villa.  “ John,”  and 
“ My  dear  Sally,”  were  the  joyful  ejaculations  as 


48 


SARAH  JAY. 


each  caught  sight  of  the  other ; and  the  next 
moment  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jay  had  met  on  their  moon- 
lit terrace. 

When,  a little  later,  l\Irs.  Jay  returned  to  the 
salon,  she  was  followed  hy  her  husband.  As  the 
slender,  graceful  man  entered,  his  serious,  refined 
face  lighting  with  recognition,  the  guests  sprang 
to  their  feet,  expressing  surprise  and  pleasure  at 
his  unexpected  arrival.  The  usual  greetings  were 
exchanged  and  then  the  company  sat  down  to  talk 
of  various  subjects,  principally  the  treaty  of  Paris. 
The  treaty  was  of  more  than  public  interest  to  the 
little  group  of  people  gathered  in  INIrs.  Jay’s  salon 
that  evening,  since  two  of  the  famous  peace  nego- 
tiators, Franklin  and  Jay,  were  of  the  number. 

But  in  time  the  talk  drifted  off  to  lighter  matter’s 
and  finally  reference  was  made  to  Dr.  Franklin’s 
object  lesson.  Nothing  would  do  but  Mr.  Jay 
must  hear  all  about  it  and  be  taken  to  task  for  his 
shameful  part  in  it. 

Mr.  Jay  listened  smilingly.  “ I rejoice  to  see 
you  in  such  good  spirits.  Dr.  Franldin,”  he  said, 
turning  to  liis  distinguished  colleague  and  then, 
with  an  affectionate  glance  at  jNIrs.  Jay,  who  sat 
beside  her  husband,  filling  his  cup  from  her  dainty 
china  teapot,  “ but  you  might  remind  the  doctor, 
Sally,  that  though  his  magnets  love  society  they 
are  always  true  to  the  pole.” 

Thus  the  evening  ended  pleasantly  in  merr)- 
raillery  and  repartee.  It  was  one  of  many  such 


rff 


"I  AM  GOING  TO  GIVE  YOU  AN  OBJECT  LESSON, 


SARAH  JAY. 


49 


evenings  spent  by  the  Jays  in  the  enjoyable  society 
of  their  friends  at  the  French  capital. 

The  gay  life  which  they  led  in  the  near  neighbor- 
hood of  Paris  was  a brilliant  contrast  to  the  trials 
and  hardships  which  they  had  suffered  previously. 
Their  troubles  had  begun  early  in  their  married 
life.  During  their  honeymoon  days,  the  harsh 
sounds  of  war  had  been  borne  in  upon  them  and 
then  came  times  of  separation  and  anxiety. 

Mrs.  Jay  was  a bride  of  1774,  the  year  that  saw 
the  meeting  of  the  first  Continental  Congress  and 
the  organized  beginnings  of  the  Revolution.  She 
had  been  an  ardent  rebel  from  the  first.  Indeed, 
she  could  have  scarcely  been  otherwise,  as  the 
daughter  of  William  Livingston  and  the  belle  of 
“ Liberty  Hall.” 

She  was  of  the  great  Whig  family  of  New  York, 
the  Livingstons,  long-time  rivals  of  the  Tory  De 
Lanceys.  In  the  flourishing  little  metropolis  she 
had  grown  up  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of 
independent  thought  and  action. 

Her  father  was  a well-known  lawyer  and  politi- 
cal writer  of  New  York.  Many  noted  statesmen 
gathered  round  his  table  and,  in  the  presence  of 
his  children,  discussed  with  him  the  knotty  prob- 
lems of  the  hour  and  proposed  their  methods  for 
settling  them.  While  still  at  the  age  of  pigtails 
and  short  frocks  Sally  became  a wise  young  politi- 
cian. 

Her  father’s  city  house  stood  on  Pine  street,  in 


50 


SARAH  JAY. 


the  centre  of  a most  aristocratic  neighborhood. 
There  she  and  her  sisters  passed  a very  lively  young 
girlhood.  They  took  a prominent  part  in  the  social 
life  of  the  capital  and  were  much  missed  by  their 
New  York  friends  when,  in  the  autumn  of  1773, 
they  removed  to  their  country  home,  patriotically 
named  “ Liberty  Hall,”  in  Elizabeth,  N. J. 

The  young  women  themselves  left  the  city  with 
many  regrets.  They  pouted  over  the  prospect  of 
rural  happiness.  “ We  shall  be  quite  buried  from 
society  in  that  sequestered  part  of  the  globe,”  they 
declared  mournfully.  But  their  gloomy  prediction 
did  not  come  to  pass.  Their  friends  sought  them 
out  in  their  retreat  and  the  muddy  way  from  the 
ferry  landing  to  the  house  was  kept  well  trodden 
by  gay  and  ever  welcome  guests. 

From  all  descriptions  Liberty  Hall  must  have 
been  as  attractive  as  its  name.  It  stood  on  hiq-h 
o-round,  at  some  distance  from  the  road,  the  old 
Springfield  turnpike,  and  was  surrounded  by  great 
shade  trees.  We  can  imagine  the  jollity  of  its  big 
fire-places,  the  cosiness  of  its  innumerable  cup- 
boards, and  the  poetry  of  its  winding  stairway, 
down  which  Sally  and  her  sisters  used  to  trip  in 
ruffled  ofowns  and  buckled  shoes  to  receive  the 
young  gallants  Avho  stood  below. 

In  this  pleasant  mansion  house  William  Living- 
ston gathered  about  him  his  independent  friends, 
and  much  of  the  conversation  to  which  his  young' 
daughters  listened  sa^mred  of  republican  principles 


SARAH  JAY. 


51 


and  ridicule  of  kingly  threats.  Among  those  who 
came  oftenest  to  Liberty  Hall  was  the  learned 
Dr.  Witherspoon  of  Princeton  College,  he  who 
numbered  among  his  pupils  .James  Madison,  Aaron 
Burr,  and  numerous  other  future  celebrities. 

Another  frequent  visitor  was  Alexander  Hamil- 
ton, then  a “ brilliant  winged  ” young  creature, 
fresh  from  his  island  home  in  the  West  Indies. 
It  was  to  William  Livingston  that  Hamilton  pre- 
sented himself  with  letters  of  introduction  when,  a 
pale,  dark-eyed  boy  of  fifteen,  he  made  his  first 
appearance  in  America  in  1772.  Through  the 
advice  of  Mr.  Livingston  he  entered  a school  in 
Elizabeth,  where  he  prepared  for  college,  but  Lib- 
erty Hall  was  always  open  to  him  and  it  was 
there,  listening  to  the  table  talk  of  its  guests,  that 
the  future  orator  received  his  first  lessons  in  states- 
inancraft.  A happy  comradeship,  too,  existed 
between  Hamilton  and  the  Livingston  girls,  espe- 
cially Sally,  who  was  nearest  his  age,  and  the 
friendship  of  these  two,  begun  in  youth,  lasted 
tlirough  later  years  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hamilton 
and  Mr.  and  Mi’s.  .lay  were  so  pleasantly  associated 
in  the  political  and  social  life  of  New  York. 

Perhaps  none  were  more  regular  in  their  attend- 
ance at  Liberty  Hall  than  a certain  “ promising 
young  lawyer,”  as  John  Jay  was  considered  in 
those  early  days.  Mr.  Jay  had  been  a college 
chum  of  the  Livingston  girls’  cousin,  Robert  R. 
Livingston,  Jr.,  the  future  chancellor,  and  for  sev- 


52 


SARAH  JAY. 


eral  years  he  had  been  a member  of  “ The  Moot,” 
a prominent  lawyers’  club,  to  which  their  father 
belonged.  So  it  is  very  probable  that,  as  a sort  of 
famdy  friend,  he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Sally  and  her  sisters  while  they  were  still  occupied 
witli  dolls  and  study  hooks.  But  however  this 
may  have  been,  he  knew  them  very  well  in  the 
days  when  they  did  the  honors  of  Liberty  Hall  so 
gracefully. 

Of  course  he  was  a great  favorite  with  all  the 
Livingston  family.  His  good  looks,  ease  of  man- 
ner, and  refined  tastes  commended  him  to  the 
young  ladies,  Avhile  his  high  principles  and  well- 
balanced  wisdom  appealed  to  the  father  and  mother. 

Very  soon  it  became  evident  that  Sally  was  the 
attraction  that  drew  the  young  lawyer  to  Liberty 
Hall  so  frequently.  Sally  was  at  this  time  a beau- 
tiful young  girl  of  seventeen,  dignified  and  charm- 
ing, blending  firmness  and  gentleness  of  character. 
A more  than  usually  strong  attachment  grew  up 
between  her  and  John  Jay.  They  were  both  per- 
sons of  deep  affections  and  it  is  pleasant  to  con- 
template a love  such  as  theirs  which,  throughout 
their  married  life,  was  to  remain  as  lover-like  as  in 
those  first  happy  days  of  courtship. 

On  April  28,  1774,  at  Liberty  Hall,  they  were 
married.  Sally  was  still  in  her  eighteenth  year  and 
John  Jay  was  ten  years  older.  Then’s  was  a joyous 
wedding,  bright  with  flowers,  music,  and  spring 
sunshine.  The  bridal  guests,  all  in  festive  attire. 


SARAH  JAY. 


53 


drove  out  from  the  city  to  Liberty  Hall  in  their 
old  time  coaches  and  post  chaises  and  on  horseback. 
The  “ New  York  Gazette  ” of  the  period  chronicled 
the  event  as  a brilliant  affair,  designating  the  bride 
as  “ the  beautiful  Sarah  Livingston,”  and  the 
groom  as  “ an  eminent  young  barrister.” 

From  the  time  of  her  marriage  Mrs.  Jay’s  life 
was  shaped  by  public  events.  Mr.  Jay’s  long  years 
of  service  to  his  country  began  that  very  summer, 
when  on  a warm  August  day  he  set  out  as  one  of 
the  New  York  delegates  to  the  General  Congress 
at  Philadelphia.  His  duties  in  that  assemblage  and 
in  the  New  York  Provincial  Congress  and  as  a 
member  of  the  Committee  of  Safety  kept  liim  sep- 
arated from  his  young  wife  almost  constantly. 

And  while  her  husband  was  distinguishing  him- 
self in  Congress  as  one  of  the  most  just  and  mod- 
erate and,  at  the  same  time,  most  determined  of 
rebels,  Mrs.  Jay  was  making  her  sacrifices  and 
facing  her  dangers  at  home.  Most  of  her  time  was 
spent  with  her  parents  at  Elizabethtown.  Here 
she  was  in  a somewhat  perilous  situation.  Liberty 
Hall  had  come  to  be  a mark  to  the  enemy.  It  was 
pointed  out  as  the  resort  of  the  “formidable  John 
Jay,”  and  as  the  home  of  William  Livingston, 
“ that  arch  fiend,”  who  so  boldly  wielded  pen  and 
power  in  the  patriot  cause. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  the  British  sought  to 
destroy  Liberty  Hall.  Indeed,  they  were  rather  in- 
vited to  do  so.  Livingston  once  declared  to  his 


54 


SARAH  JAY. 


daughters  in  satirical  humor,  “If  the  redcoats  do 
not  burn  Liberty  Hall,  I shall  think  them  greater 
rascals  than  ever,  for  I have  really  endeavored  to 
deserve  that  testimony  of  theii’  malice.”  The  only 
wonder  is  that  the  “ redcoats  ” did  not  succeed  in 
their  designs  against  the  house.  When  New  York 
became  the  scene  of  conflict,  such  an  attack  was 
feared  momentarily.  Indeed,  it  was  reported  sev- 
eral times  that  the  British  were  marcliing  against 
Elizabethtov/n.  But  IMrs.  Jay  would  not  allow 
herself  to  he  unduly  frightened  by  these  false  rumors 
and  her  calmness  at  such  times  was  praised  by  her 
husband.  He  wrote  to  her,“  I much  commend  the 
coolness  and  the  presence  of  mind  vnth  which  3'ou 
received  the  alarm.” 

In  these  trying  times  of  separation  and  anxiety, 
the  letters  which  Mrs.  Jay  received  from  her  young 
husband  must  have  been  a great  consolation  to  her. 
As  Ave  read  them,  John  Jay  comes  A^ery  Auvidly  be- 
fore us  and  we  feel  a real  affection  for  that  patriot 
lover  of  long  ago.  The  old-fashioned  sedate  word- 
ing of  his  epistles  still  “ pulsates  ” Avith  love  and 
longing  for  home. 

“Sally,”  he  exclaims,  “Sally,  the  charms  of  this 
gay  city  would  please  me  more  if  you  partook  of 
them.  I am  afraid  to  think  of  domestic  happiness : 
it  is  a subject  that  presents  to  my  imagination  so 
many  shades  of  departed  joys  as  to  excite  emotions 
very  improper  to  be  indulged  in  by  a pemon  in  my 
station,  determined  at  eAmr}^  hazard  to  perseA^ere  in 


SARAH  JAY. 


55 


the  pursuit  of  that  great  object  to  which  we  have 
sacrificed  so  much.” 

He  describes  for  Sally’s  benefit  one  of  the  few 
holidays  that  the  Continental  Congress  enjoyed 
when,  in  gondolas,  the  members  “ made  a little 
journey  ” down  the  river,  as  far  as  the  fort.  “ I 
wished  you  and  a few  select  friends  had  been  with 
me,”  he  concludes.  “ This  idea,  though  amidst 
much  noise  and  mirth,  made  me  much  alone. 
Adieu,  my  beloved.” 

And  every  pretty  face  he  saw  in  his  travels 
served  only  as  a reminder  of  his  wife  at  home. 
Referring  to  a beautiful  country  girl  whom  he  and 
Colonel  Morris  met  at  an  inn  near  Gray’s  ferry 
and  whom,  because  of  her  exquisite  complexion, 
they  called  “ the  conch-shell  beauty,”  he  says, 
“ Her  teeth  were  as  good  and  her  eyes  of  the  same 
color  and  almost  as  fine  as  those  of  my  fair  corre- 
spondent. Colonel  Morris  thought  she  bore  a great 
resemblance  to  the  lady  who  will  open  this  letter 
and,  I assure  you,  his  opinion  was  not  ill-founded.” 

As  Christmas  drew  near,  Mr.  Jay  asked  for 
leave  of  absence  but  was  refused,  since  too  many 
other  New  York  delegates  were  already  away  from 
Congress.  “ Don’t  you  pity  me,  my  dear  Sally  ? ” 
he  sighs.  “ It  is,  however,  some  consolation  that, 
should  Congress  not  adjourn  in  less  than  ten  days, 
I have  determined  to  stay  with  you  till  — and 
depend  upon  it  nothing  but  actual  imprisonment 
will  keep  me  from  you.” 


56 


SARAH  JAY. 


The  next  January,  1776,  on  the  twenty-fourth  of 
the  month,  their  son,  Peter  Augustus  Jay,  was 
born  at  Elizabethtown.  The  arrival  of  the  little 
Peter  was  a great  event  in  the  annals  of  Liberty 
Hall  and  his  cradle  was  guarded  by  a devoted 
mother  and  father,  numerous  fond  aunts,  and  most 
adoring  grand-parents. 

At  Rye,  too,  the  pleasant  old  home  of  Mr.  Jay’s 
father  and  mother  in  Westchester  county,  Xew 
York,  there  was  always  a warm  welcome  awaiting 
the  baby  Peter  and  his  mamma.  Mrs.  Jay  w'as  an 
affectionate  daughter  to  her  husband’s  parents.  “ I 
am  much  obliged  to  you  for  being  so  mindful  of 
my  good  mother,”  her  husband  wrote  to  her  from 
Philadelphia.  And  the  old  people  on  their  part 
were  very  fond  of  their  son’s  beautiful  j'oung  wife. 
Peter  Jay,  the  father,  sent  word  to  John  Jay  in 
Congress,  “When  you  write  to  Sally  remember 
our  love  to  her  and  she  must  ever}’  day  give  youi’ 
little  boy  a hearty  embrace  for  us.  We  long  to  see 
them  both  again  here  but  despair  of  its  being  soon 
in  these  unhappy  times.” 

As  the  war  progressed  and  the  situation  at 
Liberty  Hall  became  more  dangerous,  IMr.  Jay 
established  Ins  wife  and  son  at  Fishkill  and  the 
family  from  Rye  removed  to  the  same  place.  But 
the  greater  part  of  Mrs.  Jay’s  time  was  passed  in 
visiting  at  various  country  seats,  at  her  father’s 
safe  retreat  in  Persipiney,  N.J.,  and  with  her 
Livingston  cousins  at  Rliinebeck.  Mr.  Jay,  writ- 


SARAH  JAY. 


57 


ing  to  her  at  this  latter  place  in  September,  1778, 
remarlis : “ As  I always  wish  you  to  be  with  me  I 
hope  an  opportunity  will  soon  offer,  though  I con- 
fess I am  less  anxious,  as  you  can’t  fail  of  being 
happy  in  so  agreeable  a family.” 

The  following  Deceniber  Jolin  Jay  was  elected 
president  of  Congress.  He  received  many  congrat- 
ulatory letters  on  that  event  but  he  must  have  liked 
best  the  one  from  his  wife  with  its  note  of  Avomanly 
regret.  “ I had  the  pleasure,”  she  wrote,  “ of  find- 
ing  by  the  newspaper  that  you  are  honored  with 
the  first  office  on  the  continent  and  am  still  more 
pleased  to  hear  tins  appointment  affords  general 
satisfaction.  I am  very  solicitous  to  know  how 
long  I am  to  remain  in  a state  of  widowhood ; 
upon  my  word,  I sincerely  wish  three  months  may 
conclude  it ; however,  I mean  not  to  influence  your 
conduct,  for  I am  convinced  that  had  you  con- 
sulted me  as  some  men  have  their  wives  I should 
not  have  been  Roman  matron  enough  to  have  given 
you  so  entirely  to  the  public.” 

Mrs.  Jay,  you  see,  was  too  modest  to  class  her- 
self among  the  heroic  women  of  the  Revolution. 
Yet,  nevertheless,  she  was  as  brave  as  any  in  her 
patience  and  cheerfulness.  She  always  tried  to 
find  the  sunny  spots  in  the  dreary  landscape  about 
her  and  entertained  her  absent  husband  by  recount- 
ing the  pleasures  rather  than  the  woes  of  her  exis- 
tence. In  February,  1779,  from  Persipiney,  she 
writes  of  “ a grand  dinner  with  a display  of  fire- 


58 


SARAH  JAY. 


works  at  General  Knox’s  headquarters,”  and  the 
next  March  she  announces  “ four  approaching 
marriages  in  Cousin  Livingston’s  family.” 

At  this  time  her  husband  was  an  overworked 
and  very  weary  president  of  Congress.  He  began 
to  long  more  ardently  than  ever  before  for  the 
sweet  and  quiet  of  home  life.  One  stormy  even- 
ing, in  that  same  month  of  iMarch,  we  find  liim 
sitting  in  his  room  thinking  of  his  wife.  “ It  is 
now  nine  o’clock,”  he  writes  to  her ; “ my  fellow 
lodgers  out,  and  what  seldom  happens,  I am  per- 
fectly alone  and  pleasing  myself  with  the  prospect 
of  spending  the  remainder  of  the  evening  in  writ- 
ing to  you.  As  it  rains  and  snows,  there  is  less 
possibility  of  my  being  interrupted,  and  for  that 
reason  I prefer  it  to  moonlight  or  starlight.” 
After  such  an  introduction,  one  might  he  led  to 
expect  all  sorts  of  delightful  confidences.  But  no  ; 
the  writer  dares  only  say  that  lie  loves  her  and  is 
lonely  without  her;  prudence  forbids  more,  since 
two  of  his  letters  have  recently  fallen  into  “ the 
enemy’s  hands  at  Elizabeth  Town.” 

The  modest  Avishes  of  John  Jay  and  his  wife  for 
a calm  retired  life  were  not,  however,  destined  to 
be  gratified.  It  was  only  the  next  October  that 
Mr.  Jay  was  appointed  minister  to  Spain,  a position 
that  brought  with  it  fresh  trials  and  hardships.  On 
October  16  he  received  his  instructions  from  Con- 
gress, and  four  days  later  he  and  his  wife  set  sail 
for  Spain  in  the  government  frigate  “ Confederacy.” 


sarAh  jay. 


59 


They  left  at  such  short  notice  that  Mrs.  Jay  had 
no  time  to  hid  her  distracted  father  and  mother 
g'ood-by,  and  little  Peter  had  to  be  left  behind  in 
the  care  of  his  grandparents  at  Liberty  Hall. 

With  the  Jays  went  Mr.  Jay’s  young  nephew, 
Peter  Munro ; Sally’s  brother,  Col.  Brockhorst  Liv- 
ingston, as  private  secretary;  and  Mr.  Carmichael, 
a member  of  Congress,  as  public  secretary.  A 
severe  storm  disabled  their  ship  and  they  were 
forced  to  make  for  Martinique,  where  they  landed 
on  the  18th  of  December,  after  narrowly  escaping 
capture  from  an  English  fleet  off  Port  Royal.  A 
letter  from  Mrs.  Jay  to  her  mother  describes  vividly 
their  troubles  at  sea.  At  Martinique,  half  an  hour 
after  their  arrival  there,  she  writes,  “We  had  been 
deprived  of  nothing  less  than  our  bow-sprit,  fore- 
mast, and  mizzen-mast,  so  that  we  were  in  an 
awlavard  situation,  rendered  still  more  so  by  a 
pretty  high  southwest  wind  and  a very  rough  sea. 
However,  our  misfortunes  were  only  begun.  The 
injury  received  by  our  rudder  the  next  morning 
served  to  complete  them.  Let  my  dear  mamma 
imagine  the  dangerous  situation  of  more  than  three 
hundred  souls,  tossed  about  in  the  midst  of  the 
ocean,  in  a vessel  dismasted  and  under  no  command, 
at  a season,  too,  that  threatened  approaching  in- 
clemency of  weather.” 

From  Martinique  they  proceeded  to  Cadiz,  Avhere 
they  were  cordially  entertained  by  the  governor  of 
Andalusia,  Count  O’Reilly.  With  the  coming  of 


60 


SARAH  JAY. 


spring  they  moved  on  to  Madrid.  There  they  lived 
for  a time  on  the  street  of  St.  Mattes,  in  what  was 
formerly  the  residence  of  the  Saxon  minister. 

At  Madrid  they  were,  to  use  Mr.  Jay’s  own 
phrase,  “ very  disagreeably  circumstanced.”  Their 
country  was  little  known  and  less  liked  in  Spain 
and  the  fact  tliat  JMi'.  J ay  had  come  for  the  purpose 
of  begging  money  Avas  in  itself  a cause  for  disfavor 
with  the  “ haughty  and  penurious  court.”  In  ad- 
dition to  this,  there  AAmre  frequent  delays  in  the 
payment  of  salary  from  Congress.  “ To  he  obliged 
to  contract  debts  and  live  on  credit  is  terrible,” 
was  the  painful  cry  that  now  escaped  the  reticent 
but  truthful  lips  of  the  proud  young  envoy. 

JMeanwliile,  it  was  difficult  to  get  any  news  from 
liome.  Many  of  their  letters  Avere  captured  by 
hostile  cruisers  or  detained  at  the  Spanish  post- 
office.  Months  passed  without  their  receiA’ing  any 
Avord  of  their  little  son,  Avhom  they  had  left  in 
America,  and  a baby  born  in  Spain  liA’ed  scarcely 
a month. 

]\Ioreover,  they  did  not  ahvays  liaA'e  the  com- 
foi’t  of  each  other’s  compaiiA’.  Travelling  aaus  so 
expensive  that,  AAdien  Mr.  Jay  was  following  the 
court  in  its  Auirious  Avanderings,  iMrs.  Jay  AA-as 
generally  obliged  to  remain  behind  at  the  capital. 

There  Avere,  of  course,  some  feAA^  distractions, 
x^ll  through  tiiat  fii’st  summer  a comedy  aaus  per- 
formed every  evening  at  the  Madrid  theatre  and 
there  Avmre  also  bull  fights  to  be  attended.  The 


SARAH  JAY. 


61 


bull  fights  cannot  have  attracted  the  tender-hearted 
Mrs.  Jay  hut  it  is  on  record  that  her  husband  and 
brother  went  to  one  of  these  picturesque  and 
bloody  performances,  when  “ one  of  the  knights 
who  fought  on  horseback  was  killed  and  two 
wounded.” 

Then,  too,  some  of  the  letters  from  their  friends 
at  home  reached  them  safely  and  afforded  much 
enjoyment.  A few  of  these  letters  have  eome 
down  to  us  and  are  interesting  for  the  near  ac- 
quaintance they  give  with  the  persons  and  events 
of  the  time  and  for  the  charming  light  they  throw 
upon  the  characters  of  Mrs.  Jay  and  her  husband. 

]\Irs.  Jay’s  favorite  sister,  Kitty,  was  their  princi- 
pal correspondent.  That  young  lady  chatted  and 
gossiped  most  delightfully  for  their  benefit.  Her 
brother-indaw  wrote  to  her,  “You  are  really  a 
charming  correspondent,  as  well  as  charming  in 
everything  else.  We  liave  more  letters  from  you 
than  from  all  our  friends  in  America  put  together. 
I often  wish  you  with  us  for  our  sakes  and  as  often 
am  content  that  you  are  not  for  yours.  We  go  on, 
however,  tolerably  well,  flattering  ourselves  that 
we  shall  not  be  long  absent,  and  anticipating  the 
pleasures  we  are  to  enjoy  on  our  return ; among 
them,  that  of  your  being  with  us  is,  I assure  you, 
not  the  least.” 

In  the  spring  of  1780  Miss  Kitty  was  at  Morris- 
town and  from  there  she  wrote  to  Mrs.  Jay  that 
their  cousin.  Lady  Mary  Watts,  and  her  husband 


62 


SARAH  JAY. 


had  “ rented  Mrs.  Richard  Montgomery’s  farm  for 
ten  years ; ” that  Colonel  Lewis,  who  was  married 
to  their  cousin  Gertrude,  the  sister  of  Chancellor 
Livingston,  had  “ purchased  a house  in  Albany  ; ” 
that  the  chancellor  was  in  Congress  ; that  liis  wife 
was  “much  admired  in  Philadelphia  ” and  was  verj" 
intimate  with  Mrs.  Morris  ; that  Colonel  Lewis  and 
the  chancellor  had  each  “ presented  Cousin  Living- 
ston with  a grand-daughter,”  and  that  the  chan- 
cellor’s was  “ a remarkahly  fine  child.”  She  then 
goes  on  to  say  that  General  Schuyler  and  his  wife 
are  at  INIorristown,  and  “ Apropos,”  she  continues, 
“ Betsey  Schuyler  is  engaged  to  our  friend.  Colonel 
Hamilton.  She  has  been  at  Morristown  at  Dr. 
Cochrane’s  since  last  February.  IMorristown  con- 
tinues to  he  very  lively,  ini’s.  P.  is  said  to  be 
making  a match  vdth  her  daughter  and  her  hus- 
band’s brotlier.  Colonel  Burr  and  she  are  not  on 
speaking  terms.”  And  thus  ends  the  bright  and 
breezy  letter  that  must  have  left  Mrs.,  Jay  very 
wise  in  the  knowledge  of  her  friend’s  affairs. 

In  another  letter  Miss  Kitty  makes  mention  of 
the  French  minister,  Chevalier  de  la  Luzerne,  his 
secretary.  Monsieur  Marbois,  and  a Spanish  digni- 
tary, Don  Juan  de  Miralles,  with  all  of  whom  she 
had  been  having  much  dispute,  resulting  in  wagei-s, 
of  which  Mrs.  Jay  was  indirectly  the  cause.  Dr. 
Witherspoon,  the  old  time  friend  of  the  Livingstons, 
took  part  in  the  debate.  He  had  just  returned 
from  Spain  but,  though  he  brought  back  word  that 


SARAH  JAY. 


63 


Mrs.  Jay  was  “the  greatest  philosopher  of  the 
age,”  he  could  not  give  Miss  Kitty  much  support 
in  the  controversy.  Finally,  the  disputants  agreed 
to  await  the  verdict  of  Mr.  Carmichael,  who  was 
acting  as  Mr.  Jay’s  public  secretary  in  Spain.  He 
was  at  that  time  corresponding  with  the  chevalier 
and  would  be  able  to  furnish  the  exact  facts  con- 
cerning the  wife  of  tlae  young  envoy. 

Here  is  Miss  Kitty’s  account  of  the  playful  little 
bet.  “ Do  you  know,”  she  writes  to  Mrs.  Jay, 
“ I am  trading  on  your  stock  of  firmness,  and  if 
you  are  not  possessed  of  as  much  as  I suppose  you 
to  have  I shall  become  bankrupt,  having  several 
wagers  depending  that  you  will  not  paint  nor  go 
to  plays  on  Sundays.  The  chevalier  is  not  to  he 
convinced  that  he  has  lost  his  bet  till  Mr.  Carmi- 
chael informs  him  you  do  not  use  paint.  Mr. 
Witherspoon  informs  me  that  he  was  questioned 
by  many  at  Martinique  if  you  did  not.” 

Of  course  this  was  all  because  of  Mrs.  Jay’s 
wonderfully  brilliant  complexion.  The  dons  and 
senoras  and  other  obtuse  foreigners  could  not  be- 
lieve that  her  blushes  were  natural.  However,  we 
have  Mrs.  Jay’s  own  testimony  that  they  were. 
“ The  bets  depending  between  you  and  the  cheva- 
lier I hope  are  considerable,”  she  answered  her 
sister,  “ since  you  are  certainly  entitled  to  the 
stakes,  for  I have  not  used  any  false  coloring  nor 
have  I amused  myself  with  plays  or  any  other  di- 
versions on  Sundays.” 


64 


SARAH  JAY. 


As  it  turned  out,  tlie  bets  came  to  a most  happy 
conclusion.  When  Mr.  Carmichael  was  questioned 
by  the  disputants,  his  answer  was  the  same  as  INIrs. 
Jay’s  had  been.  Mrs.  Robert  Morris,  who  was  a 
great  friend  of  the  Livingston  girls,  reports  the 
close  of  the  contest  and  the  establishment  of  peace 
between  Kitty  and  the  chevalier.  In  a letter  to 
Mrs.  Jay  she  writes,  “ The  Chevalier  de  la  Luzerne, 
j\L  de  Marbois,  and  Mr.  Holker  express  great  pleas- 
ure at  your  remembrance  of  them,  and  request  your 
acceptance  of  their  best  wishes.  The  chevalier 
acquiesced  in  the  loss  of  his  bet,  presented  Kitty 
with  a handsome  dress  cap,  accompanied  with  a 
note  acknowledging  your  firmness.” 

This  amusing  incident  of  the  bets  serves  to  illus- 
trate the  confidence  and  admuntion  which  Mrs.  Jay 
inspired  in  all  who  knew  her.  Her  friends  at  home 
were  eloquent  in  her  praise  and  thought  with  pride 
of  the  favorable  impression  she  would  make  in  the 
courts  of  the  old  world.  Her  oldest  sister,  Susan, 
sent  tins  affectionate  message  to  her,  “ I wonder 
whether  my  dear  sister  appeal's  as  sweet,  amiable, 
and  beautiful  to  the  signoras  as  she  does  to  her  own 
countryfolk.”  And  Mi’s.  Janet  Montgomery,  in  a 
letter  to  Mrs.  iMercy  Warren,  wrote  enthusiastically 
of  her.  “ You  speak  of  my  dear  friend,  Mrs.  Jay,” 
she  said.  “ We  have  heard  from  her  at  Hispaniola, 
where  she  was  obliged  to  put  in  after  the  storm,  in 
wliich  she  had  like  to  be  taken.  She  is  one  of  the 
most  worthy  Avomen  I know ; has  a great  fund  of 


SARAH  JAY. 


65 


knowledge  and  makes  use  of  most  charming  lan- 
guage ; added  to  this,  she  is  very  handsome,  which 
will  secure  her  a welcome  with  the  unthinking, 
whilst  her  understanding  Avill  secure  her  the  hearts 
of  the  most  worthy.  Her  manners  will  do  honor 
to  our  countrywomen  and  I really  believe  will 
please  even  at  the  court  of  Madrid.” 

Miss  Susan  Livingston  and  Mrs.  Montgomery 
probably  thought,  as  did  other  Americans,  that 
Spain  would  receive  the  young  envoy  and  his 
wife  courteously,  that  she  would  recognize  our 
independence  and  lend  us  the  assistance  we  needed. 
But,  as  we  have  already  seen,  she  did  none  of  these 
things.  Instead  she  made  matters  very  disagree- 
able for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jay. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  feelings  of  relief  that  Mr. 
Jay  and  his  wife  received  the  news  of  his  appoint- 
ment as  peace  negotiator.  Franklin,  with  whom 
Jay  was  associated  in  the  new  commission,  re- 
quested his  presence  in  Paris.  “ Let  me  know,” 
the  doctor  wrote  him,  “by  a previous  line,  if  you 
conclude  to  come,  and  if,  as  I hope,  Mrs.  Jay  will 
accompany  you,  that  I may  provide  for  you  proper 
lodgings.” 

Without  delay  the  young  couple  shook  from 
their  feet  the  unfriendly  dust  of  the  Spanish  capi- 
tal and  set  out  for  Paris.  With  them  went  their 
little  daughter,  Maria,  who  had  been  born  only  a 
few  months  before.  Their  journey  to  Paris  was 
long  and  tedious.  Mrs.  Jay  “fell  sick”  on  the 


66 


SARAH  JAY. 


way  with  fever  and  ague  and  there  was  some  diffi- 
culty in  getting  suitable  post  hoises  at  the  differ- 
ent stages.  But  at  last  on  the  23d  of  June  their 
destination  was  reached  and  they  found  them- 
selves in  Paris,  a part  of  that  beautiful  “ garden  of 
delights.” 

For  two  very  happy  years  the  Jays  resided  at  the 
French  capital.  Tlieir  first  lodgings  were  in  the 
Hotel  d’Orleans,  Rue  des  Petits  Augustines.  Later 
they  removed  to  Passy,  where  they  lived  in  the 
same  house  with  Dr.  Franklin.  And  finally,  in  the 
autumn  of  1783,  they  took  up  their  abode  at  Chal- 
liot  near  Passy,  on  the  road  to  Paris.  Here  it  was 
that  Mrs.  Jay  and  her  guests  were  indulging  in 
their  gay  repartee,  on  that  January  evening  when 
Mr.  Jay  returned  home  so  unexpectedly  and  sur- 
prised them  all  in  the  mitlst  of  their  tea-cups. 

One  likes  to  dwell  on  this  period  in  the  hfe  of 
Mrs.  Jay.  It  was  a time  of  great  historic  happen- 
ings, with  which  she,  as  the  wife  of  John  Jay,  was 
intimately  associated.  At  her  house  the  famous 
commissioners  often  met  and  arranged  those  peace 
negotiations  that  made  America  an  independent 
nation  of  “ magnificent  boundaries.” 

Her  husband’s  part  in  the  negotiations  has  been 
pronounced  a “ triumph  of  diplomacy.”  It  was 
enthusiastically  praised  by  his  contemporaries. 
But  probably  none  of  the  congratulatoiy  messages 
he  received  pleased  liim  more  than  the  little  note 
his  wife  sent  him  the  day  after  the  signmg  of  the 


SARAH  JAY. 


67 


provisional  articles.  “ My  dear,”  she  wrote,  “ I 
long  to  embrace  you  now  as  a deliverer  of  our 
country  as  well  as  an  affectionate  and  tender  hus- 
band.” 

The  Paris  that  the  Jays  knew  was  a brilliant 
Paris.  It  displayed  a pride  and  sjDlendor  that  were 
unconscious  of  the  shadows  that  the  coming  Revo- 
lution cast.  The  “ fashions  ” that  prevailed  there 
were  fantastic  and  capricious.  They  changed  with 
the  day.  Mrs.  Jay  in  a letter  to  Mrs.  Morris  thus 
describes  them : “ At  present  the  fashions  are 

very  decent  and  very  plain ; the  gowns  most  worn 
are  the  robes  d V Anglaise.,  which  are  exactly  like 
ye  Italian  habits,  that  were  iii  fashion  in  America 
when  I left ; the  Sultana  is  also  d la  mode.,  but  it 
is  not  expected  it  will  remain  long  so.  Every 
lady  makes  them  of  slight  silk.  There  is  so  great 
a variety  of  hats,  caps,  cuffs,  etc.,  that  it  is  impos- 
sible to  describe  them.  I forgot  that  the  robe 
d V Anglaise.,  if  trimmed  either  with  the  same  or 
gauze,  is  dress ; hut  if  untrimmed  must  he  worn 
with  an  apron  and  is  undress.  Negligees  are  very 
little  in  vogue.  Fans  of  eight  or  ten  sous  are  al- 
most the  only  ones  in  use.” 

The  women  of  tlie  period  Avore  their  hair  raised 
high  in  the  form  of  a pyramid,  which  they  crowned 
with  flov/ers.  It  was  a trying,  hideous  style  of 
hair  dressing  but  it  did  not  disfigure  Mrs.  Jay.  A 
charming  minature  taken  of  her  at  this  time  has 
come  down  to  us  and  shows  her  face  under  the 


68 


SARAH  JAY. 


tour  and  wreath  of  roses  sweetly,  seriously  beau- 
tiful. In  another  picture,  a portrait  painted  by 
Robert  Edge  Pine,  she  appears  in  the  gypsy  hat 
and  “ milkmaid  simplicity  ” of  dress  introduced 
for  a brief  interval  by  Marie  Antoinette  and  the 
ladies  of  her  court. 

The  queen  was  at  this  time  in  the  full  bloom  of 
her  remarkable  beauty.  ^Irs.  Jay  saw  her  occa- 
sionally at  the  theatre  in  Passy.  She  wrote  of  her, 
“ She  is  so  handsome,  and  her  manners  are  so  en- 
gaging that  almost  forgetful  of  republican  princi- 
ples I was  ready  while  in  her  presence  to  declare  her 
to  be  born  to  be  a queen.  There  are,  however,  many 
traits  in  her  character  worthy  of  imitation,  even  by 
republicans,  and  I cannot  but  admire  her  resolu- 
tion to  superintend  the  education  of  Madame  Roy- 
ale,  her  daughter,  to  whom  she  has  allotted 
chambers  adjoining  her  own  and  persists  in  refus- 
ingf  to  name  a ofoverness  for  her.” 

Mrs.  Jay  was  said  to  resemble  iMarie  Antoinette. 
They  possessed  the  same  wonderful  complexion, 
of  whicli  Madam  Lebrun,  in  her  despair  at  por- 
traying it,  once  remarked,  “ Brilliant  is  the  only 
word  to  describe  it ; for  the  skin  is  so  transparent 
that  it  allows  of  no  shadow.”  Indeed,  so  great  was 
the  likeness  which  Mrs.  Jay  bore  to  the  ill-fated 
sovereign,  that  one  evening  at  the  theatre  in  Paris, 
she  was  mistaken  for  the  queen  and,  as  she  entered, 
the  audience  rose  to  their  feet  to  do  her  reverence. 

Of  course  such  a resemblance  could  only  add  to 


SARAH  JAY. 


69. 


the  general  admiration  which  Mrs.  Jay  excited  in 
the  Paris  world.  She  was  a great  favorite  there. 
She  and  her  husband  were  cordially  welcomed  to 
all  the  famous  salons  of  the  day,  where  they  min- 
gled with  the  wits,  beauties,  and  savants  of  that  old 
regime  Avhich  was  soon  to  disappear  forever. 

Amid  these  scenes  of  gayety  and  brilliance,,  the 
society  which  the  Jays  enjoyed  most  was  to  be 
found  at  the  Hotel  de  Noailles,  the  home  of  the 
La  Fayettes,  and  with  Dr.  Franklin  at  Passy. 

The  La  Fayettes  were  among  the  first  to  greet 
the  Jays  on  their  coming  to  Paris.  A few  days 
after  their  arrival,  Madame  La  Fayette  sent  a note 
to  Mrs.  Jay,  offering  her  “tender  homage  ” and 
the  acquaintance  thus  begun  between  Mrs.  Jay  and 
the  marchioness  soon  grew  into  friendship.  They 
were  both  women  of  simple,  home-loving  tastes, 
devoted  wives  and  mothers  and,  naturally,  they 
proved  very  congenial  companions.  The  letters 
which  they  exchanged  show  how  intimate  and  affec- 
tionate was  the  regard  which  they  felt  for  each 
other.  There  exist  several  notes  of  invitation  from 
the  marchioness  to  Mrs.  Jay,  asking  her  to  dinner 
at  the  Hotel  de  Noailles  and  begging  that  she  will 
bring  with  her  “ Mademoiselle,  her  daughter,” 
(Maria),  to  see  Madame  La  Fayette’s  “ little  family.” 
And  in  Mrs.  Jay’s  replies  we  find  graceful  mention 
of  “the  pleasure  it  will  give  her  daughter  to  wait 
upon  the  charming  little  Miss  Virginia.” 

In  reference  to  this  pleasant  intercourse  that  ex- 


70 


SARAH  JAY. 


istecl  between  Mrs.  Jay  and  the  marchioness,  ]\Iiss 
Adams,  the  daughter  of  John  Adams,  recorded  in 
her  diary  : “ Everybody  who  knew  her  when  here 
bestows  many  encomiums  upon  Mrs.  Jay.  Madame 
de  La  Fayette  said  she  was  well  acquainted  with 
her  and  very  fond  of  lier,  adding  that  she  and  Mrs. 
Jay  thought  alike,  that  pleasure  might  be  found 
abroad  but  happiness  only  at  home,  in  the  society 
of  one’s  family  and  friends.” 

When  this  was  written,  Mrs.  Jay  had  been  gone 
from  Paris  many  montlis  and  j^et  Madame  La  Fay- 
ette did  not  cease  to  think  and  talk  of  her  affec- 
tionately. Indeed,  there  was  not  in  all  France  a 
more  loyal  and  admiring  friend  to  iNIm.  Jay  than 
Madame  La  Fayette,  unless  perhaps  it  was  Dr. 
Franklin. 

To  the  doctor,  Mrs.  Jay  was  indebted  for  innu- 
merable attentions  and  kindnesses.  He  procured 
lodgings  for  herself  and  family,  and  for  a time 
shared  his  home  with  them.  He  gave  her  manj" 
presents,  among  other  things,  a beautiful  china 
teapot  from  Sevres  and  an  excellent  portrait  of 
himself.  He  showered  her  and  her  husband  with 
invitations  and  at  his  table  introduced  them  to  his 
distinguished  acquaintances,  the  greatest  pliilos- 
ophers,  statesmen,  and  scientists  of  the  age.  And 
he  did  all  this,  not  for  any  diplomatic  reasons,  nor 
because  they  were  Americans  like  himself,  but  be- 
cause he  entertained  a real  affection  for  them. 

The  doctor’s  letters  to  John  Jay  and  his  wife, 


SARAH  JAY. 


71 


after  they  had  returned  home,  give  evidence  of  his 
fondness  for  them  and  their  children.  To  Mrs. 
Jay  he  wrote  in  February,  1785:  “I  received  by 
the  Marquis  de  La  Fayette  your  kind  letter  of  the 
13th  of  December.  It  gave  me  pleasure  on  two 
accounts,  as  it  informed  me  of  the  public  welfare 
and  that  of  your,  I may  almost  say  our,  dear 
little  family,  for  since  I had  the  pleasure  of  their 
being  with  me  in  the  same  house  I have  ever  felt  a 
kind  affection  for  them  equal,  I believe,  to  that  of 
most  fathers.” 

Later,  writing  to  John  Jay  of  his  own  expected 
return  to  America,  he  said;  “ Next  to  the  pleasure 
of  rejoining  my  own  family  will  be  that  of  seeing 
you  and  yours  well  and  happy  and  embracing  my 
little  friend  (Maria),  whose  singular  attachment  to 
me  I shall  always  remember.” 

And,  shortly  after  Dr.  Franklin’s  arrival  in 
America,  he  proposed  making  a journey  to  New 
York  and  visiting  the  Jays.  Of  course  the  Jays 
were  delighted  with  the  project  and  Mr.  Jay 
wrote  in  reference  to  it:  “ Mrs.  Jay  is  exceedingly 
pleased  with  the  idea  and  sincerely  joins  with  me 
in  wisliing  to  see  it  realized.  Her  attachments  are 
very  strong  and  that  to  you,  being  founded  on 
esteem  and  the  recollection  of  kind  offices,  is  par- 
ticularly so.”  And  of  the  little  Maria  he  says : 
“ Your  name  is  familiar  to  her  as,  indeed,  it  will  he 
to  every  generation.” 

One  might  go  on  quoting  indefinitely  to  show 


72 


SARAH  JAY. 


what  a happy  intimacy  existed  between  Dr. 
Franklin  and  his  young  friends.  Indeed,  the 
doctor  was  always,  as  he  himself  declared,  like  one 
of  the  family.  And,  of  course,  this  was  especially 
true  in  Paris,  when  he  and  the  Jays  were  thrown 
together  so  constantly. 

The  family  into  which  Dr.  Franklin  had  been 
adopted  consisted,  in  the  autumn  of  1783,  of  four 
members,  Mr.  Jay,  Mrs.  Jay,  IMaria,  and  a new  baby, 
who  had  been  born  at  midsummer  and  christened 
Anne. 

Early  in  the  autumn,  however,  the  family  was 
for  a time  deprived  of  its  head  ; Mr.  Jay,  who  had 
been  very  muck  overworked,  was  forced  by  ill 
health  to  leave  his  wife  and  little  girls  at  Passy 
while  he  went  to  England  to  try  the  Bath  waters. 
It  was  shortly  after  his  departure  tliat  INIrs.  Jay 
moved  to  the  house  at  Challiot,  which  Mr.  Jay  had 
engaged  for  her. 

She  was  delighted  with  her  new  quarteis  and  wrote 
to  her  husband  : “ Everybody  who  sees  the  house  is 
surprised  it  has  so  long  remained  unoccupied.  It  is 
so  gay,  so  lively,  that  I am  sure  you  null  be  pleased. 
Y esterday  the  windows  were  opened  in  my  cabinet, 
while  I was  di’essing,  and  it  was  even  then  too 
Avarm.  Dr.  Franklin  and  his  grandsons  and  l\Ir. 
and  Mrs.  Coxe  and  the  Miss  Walpoles  dvank  tea 
with  me  likewise  tliis  evening  and  they  all  ap- 
proved of  your  choice.  As  the  sky  is  very  clear 
and  the  moon  shines  A'ery  bright,  Ave  AA'ere  tempted 


SARAH  JAY. 


73 


to  walk  from  the  salon  upon  the  terrace  and,  while 
the  company  were  admiring  my  situation,  my  imag- 
ination was  retracing  the  pleasing  evenings  that 
you  and  I have  passed  together  in  contemplating 
the  mild  and  gentle  rays  of  the  moon.”  As  we 
read,  we  cannot  but  smile  at  that  last  — - Mrs.  Jay 
thinking  of  her  husband  and  “ contemplating  the 
mild  and  gentle  rays  of  the  moon ; ” and  this,  in 
the  near  presence  of  Dr.  Franklin.  Surely  the 
doctor  did  not  spare  his  pretty  hostess  hut  poked 
fun  at  her  and  rallied  her  about  her  devotion  to 
Mr.  Jay,  as  on  that  other  occasion  when  he  tried  to 
tease  her  with  the  tell-tale  magnets. 

This  letter  of  Mrs.  Jay’s,  written  to  her  husband 
from  Ghalliot,  and  others  that  follow,  gives  glimpses 
of  the  interesting  life  she  led  there.  She  reports 
reading  “ Evalina,”  which  Miss  Walpole  lent  her, 
exchanging  repartees  with  Dr.  Franklin,  meeting 
the  younger  Pitt  at  a dinner  party,  and  watching 
the  assent  of  a “globe  of  Montgolfier’s.”  Her 
mention  of  the  “ globe  ” is  followed  by  a character- 
istically sweet  comment,  “ If  I had  four  baloons,” 
she  tells  her  husband,  “ to  make  a Mercury  of  a 
common  messenger  you  should  not  be  twenty-four 
hours  without  hearing  from  us.”  She  talks  of  the 
“ enchanting  autumn  weather,”  and  of  the  hahy 
Anne  she  says,  “ My  little  Nancy  is  a perfect 
cherub,  without  making  the  least  allowance  for  a 
mother’s  partiality.” 

But  of  course  Mrs.  Jay  could  not  be  perfectly 


74 


SARAH  JAY. 


happy  without  the  presence  of  her  “ best  beloved.” 
“ I long  most  ardently  for  your  return,”  she  Avrites 
him  and  then  adds,  with  true  wifely  concern, 
“ though  I would  not  have  you  leave  England  until 
you  have  given  it  a fair  trial.” 

It  was  in  January,  1784,  as  we  have  seen,  that 
Mr.  Jay  returned  to  Paris,  a well  man.  And  then, 
for  a few  months,  he  and  liis  wife  lingered  among 
theii’  friends  at  the  fascinating  French  capital. 
But  they  did  not  stay  long.  Though  Mr.  Jay 
received  repeated  offer’s  from  Congress  of  appoint- 
irrents  at  London  and  Paris,  he  refused  them  all. 
It  was  his  intention,  he  declared,  to  return  home, 
and  there  to  remain  a private  citizen. 

There  were  many  eager  to  welcome  Jolm  Jay 
and  his  young  'wife  back  to  America,  all  their  rela- 
tives and  old  friends  and,  especially,  their  little  son 
Peter.  Of  Peter  they  had  been  hearing  only  occa- 
sional mention  through  the  few  letters  that  reached 
them  safely.  “I  long  to  see  you  both,”  Peter’s 
grandpapa  wrote  them  from  Liberty  Hall,  “ and 
my  dear  little  French  granddaughter,  IMaria.  IMy 
sweet  little  Peter  is  now  standing  at  my  elbow. 
He  is  really,  and  without  flattering,  one  of  the 
handsomest  boys  of  the  whole  country.” 

On  May  16  the  Jays  left  Paris  for  Dover  and 
there  they  took  ship  for  New  York.  They  carried 
Avith  them  the  affection  of  Americans  and  foreign- 
ers alike.  Mr.  Ja3'’s  services  to  liis  country  were 
being  univemally  applauded  and  at  his  departure 


SARAH  JAY. 


75 


John  Adams  wrote  (John  Adams,  who  certainly 
knew  how  to  turn  off  a phrase  as  cleverly  as  any 
one),  “ Our  worthy  friend,  Mr.  Jay,  returns  to  his 
country  like  a hee  to  his  hive,  with  both  legs  loaded 
with  merit  and  honor.” 

Mr.  Jay  had  thought  to  remain  a private  citizen. 
But  in  this  he  was  mistaken.  On  his  arrival  in 
America,  he  was  informed  that  he  had  been  ap- 
pointed Secretary  of  Foreign  Affairs.  This  was  a 
prominent  and  responsible  position,  corresponding 
very  nearly  to  the  present  office  of  Secretary  of 
State. 

As  Secretary  of  Foreign  Affairs,  Mr.  Jay  had 
numerous  social  duties  to  perform.  He  built  a 
house  in  New  York  at  No.  8 Broadway  and  that 
became  the  centre  of  official  entertainment  during 
the  years  that  New  York  remained  the  national 
capital,  first  under  the  Articles  of  Confederation 
and  then,  for  a brief  period,  under  the  Constitution. 

All  eyes  looked  naturally  to  Mrs.  Jay  for  social 
leadership,  her  influential  family,  her  husband’s 
important  place  in  public  life,  her  acquaintance 
Avith  the  manners  and  customs  of  foreign  courts, 
her  wealth  and  hospitality  made  her  easily  the  sov- 
ereign of  the  gay  New  York  world. 

In  her  pleasant  parlors,  at  the  daAvning  of  the 
young  republic,  assembled  the  grave  and  gallant  of' 
those  earliest  days.  Her  dinner  and  supper  list 
for  1787-88,  which  by  a rare  good  fortune  has  been 
preserved,  shoAvs  the  names  of  nearly  all  the  promi- 


76 


SARAH  JAY. 


nent  colonial  families  and  of  the  most  distinguished 
statesmen  who  were  brought  to  New  York  hy  the 
fii’st  Congresses. 

Mi-s.  Jay  entertained  almost  constantly.  Mi-s. 
Abigail  Adams  Smith  wrote  to  her  mother,  Mrs. 
John  Adams  : “ Mrs.  Jay  gives  a dinner  nearly 
every  week,  besides  one  to  the  corps  diplomatique 
on  Tuesday  evening.” 

On  INIay  20,  1788,  Mrs.  Smith  wrote  again: 
“ Yesterday  we  dined  at  Mrs.  Jay’s  in  company 
with  the  whole  corps  dip>lomaticque.  ]Mr.  Jay  is  a 
most  pleasing  man,  plain  in  his  manners,  but  kind, 
affectionate,  and  attentive  ; benevolence  is  stamped 
on  every  feature.  Mi-s.  Jay  dresses  showily,  but  is 
very  pleasing  on  a first  acquaintance.  The  dinner 
was  d la  Franpaise  and  exlribited  more  European 
taste  than  I expected  to  find.” 

iMi'S.  Smith’s  account  is  of  a formal  dinner.  But 
when,  a year  later,  in  the  spring  of  1789,  her  father 
and  mother  as  \dce-president  elect  and  wife  visited 
the  Jays,  they  were  entertained  in  simpler  fashion. 
At  least  so  it  would  seem  from  the  charming  little 
note  which  Mrs.  Adams  afterwards  wrote  to  Mi-s. 
Jay,  thanking  her  for  her  hospitality.  “ Our  mush 
and  melon  brandy,”  she  says,  “was  of  great  seiufice 
to  us  and  we  never  failed  to  toast  the  donor  whilst 
our  hearts  were  warmed  by  the  recollection.  I 
hope,  my  dear  madam,  that  5'our  health  is  better 
than  when  I left  you  and  this,  not  for  your  sake 
only,  but  for  that  of  your  worthy  partner  who,  I am 


SARAH  JAY. 


77 


sure,  sympathized  so  much  with  you  that  he  nevei’ 
really  breakfasted  the  whole  time  I Avas  Avith  you.” 
As  we  read  we  cannot  he  too  grateful  to  Mrs. 
Adams  for  showing  us  Mrs.  Jay  in  the  delightfully 
human  atmosphere  of  doing  up  a lunch  of  “ mush 
and  melon  brandy  ” for  her  departing  guests  and 
for  introducing  us  to  the  Jay  breakfast  table  Avith 
no  Mrs.  Jay  smiling  over  the  teacups  and  Avith  Mr. 
Jay  sitting  desolate  at  the  opposite  end  of  the 
table.  It  is  by  such  realistic  touches  that  we  come 
to  knoAv  our  republican  dame  and  her  devoted  hus- 
band. 

On  her  receiving  days,  Mrs.  Jay  was  assisted  by 
her  cousins,  Lady  Mary  Watts  and  Lady  Katy  Duer, 
the  daughters  of  Lord  Sterling.  And  she  usually 
had  one  of  her  numerous  sisters  with  her.  The 
favorite  “ Kitty”  of  Revolutionary  fame,  avIio  had 
proved  so  charming  a correspondent,  was  manned 
and  living  in  Baltimore  but  there  were  others 
upon  Avhom  Mrs.  Jay  w’as  free  to  call  and  these 
young  girls  Avere  ahvays  glad  to  leave  Liberty  Hall 
for  the  attractions  of  their  sister’s  city  home.  Their 
father  tells  of  how  they  enjoyed  “ shaking  their 
heels  at  the  balls  and  assemblages  of  the  metrop- 
olis.” 

The  “ metropolis  ” Avith  its  gayeties  must  have 
been  especially  alluring  to  them  in  that  memorable 
spring  of  1789  wliich  saw  the  adoption  of  the  Con- 
stitution and  the  inauguration  of  our  first  presi- 
dent. And  Ave  maybe  sure  Mrs.  Jay  did  not  forget 


78 


SARAH  JAY. 


her  sisters  at  a time  when  “ the  finest  gentlemen 
and  most  elegant  females  of  the  land  were  content 
to  squeeze  themselves  urto  mouse-holes  for  the 
privilege  of  the  inauguration  week  in  town.” 

It  was  a season  of  fetes  and  balls  and  congratu- 
latory dinners,  in  all  of  Avhich  Mrs.  Jay  took  a 
prominent  part.  She  remained  in  the  city  of  flags 
and  silken  banners  aud  flowers  and  evergreen  gar- 
lands to  receive  and  entertain  the  president.  Then, 
a fortnight  later,  she  crossed  over  to  Liberty  Hall, 
where  Mrs.  Washington  was  expected  to  stop  on 
her  way  to  join  her  husband  in  New  York. 

On  a beautiful  May  day  Mrs.  Washington, 
accompanied  by  her  friend,  Mrs.  Robert  ^lorris, 
arrived  at  Liberty  Hall.  The  house  was  in  gala 
attire,  the  trees  bright  with  lanterns  and  the  rooms 
sweet  with  mayflowers.  Mrs.  Jay,  we  are  told, 
“ aided  her  parents  in  extending  graceful  hospitali- 
ties ” to  the  fii’st  lady  of  the  land. 

IMrs.  Waslungton  and  Mrs.  Morris  spent  the 
night  with  the  Livingstons.  The  next  morning, 
Washington,  attended  by  Robert  Morris,  John  Jay, 
and  “ other  distinguished  characters,”  came  to 
Liberty  Hall  to  breakfast  with  the  ladies  and  after 
breakfast  the  whole  presidential  party  sailed  across 
New  York  Bay  and  entered  the  capital,  amid  music 
and  cannon  and  “salvos  of  applause.” 

Under  the  new  government,  wLich  all  this  merry- 
making ushered  in,  Mr.  Jaj'-  was  given  the  office  of 
Chief  Justice.  In  this  capacity  his  duties  often 


SARAH  JAY. 


79 


carried  him  from  home  and  the  letters  which  he 
received  from  his  wife  in  his  various  absences  afford 
brief  glimpses  of  the  life  she  led  during  the  first 
administration. 

“ Our  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hamilton,”  she 
writes,  “left  New  York  last  Wednesday;  they 
dined  with  me  on  Sunday  and  Tuesday.”  And 
again  she  reports,  “ Last  Monday  the  President 
went  to  Long  Island  to  pass  a week  there.  On 
Wednesday  Mrs.  Washington  called  upon  me  to 
go  with  her  to  wait  upon  Miss  Von  Berckel  ” 
(Miss  Von  Berckel  was  the  pretty  daughter  of  the 
Dutch  minister),  “and  on  Thursday  morning,  agree- 
able to  invitation,  myself  and  the  little  girls  took 
an  early  breakfast  with  Mrs.  Washington,  and  then 
went  with  her  and  her  grandchildren  to  breahfast 
at  General  Morris’s  Morrisania.  We  passed  to- 
gether a very  agreeable  day  and  on  our  return 
dined  with  her,  as  she  would  not  take  a refusal. 
After  which  I came  home  to  dress  and  she  was  so 
polite  as  to  take  coffee  with  me  in  the  evening.” 

This  account  of  bygone  days  as  told  by  Mre. 
Jay  is  very  interesting  and  especially  so  is  the 
reference  to  that  “ Thursday  morning,”  when  the 
young  mother  (Mrs.  Jay  was  only  thirty-three  at 
the  commencement  of  W ashington’s  administra- 
tion) and  the  “ little  girls,”  Maria  and  Anne,  went 
off  on  a jaunt  to  Morrisania  with  the  golden  haired 
“Tut”  and  naughty  “Nellie”  and  Tut’s  and 
Nellie’s  gray-haired  grandmamma. 


80 


SARAH  JAY. 


The  “little  girls”  had  become  big  girls,  and  be- 
sides them  and  Peter  there  were  William  and  little 
Sally  when,  in  the  spring  of  1794,  their  father  was 
chosen  by  Washington  as  special  envoy  to  Great 
Britain.  JMr.  Jay  was  in  Philadelphia,  where  the 
Congress  was  sitting,  when  he  wrote  to  his  wife  of 
his  appointment.  Of  it  he  said  : “Xo  appoint- 
ment ever  operated  more  unpleasantly  upon  me ; 
but  the  public  considerations  which  were  urged, 
and  the  manner  in  which  it  was  pressed,  strongly 
impressed  me  with  a conviction  that  to  refuse  it 
would  be  to  desert  my  duty  for  the  sake  of  my  ease 
and  domestic  concerns  and  comforts.”  Accordingly 
on  May  17  he  set  sail  for  England,  taking  with 
him  his  son,  Peter  Augustus,  who  was  then  in  his 
nineteenth  year. 

His  going  was  a great  trial  to  IMm.  Jay,  greater 
perhaps  than  any  which  had  gone  before.  For  it 
was  to  be  a longer  separation  than  any  previous 
one  had  been  and  he  and  she  were  becoming  more 
and  more  necessary  to  each  other’s  happiness. 
When  he  had  told  her  of  his  decision  she  had 
answered  : “ The  utmost  exertion  I can  make  is  to 
be  silent;  excuse  me  if  I have  not  philosophy,” 
and  words  such  as  these  mean  much  when  wrung 
from  a heart  of  a woman  like  Mrs.  Jay. 

During  her  husband’s  absence  in  Europe  Mi’s. 
Jay,  assisted  occasionally  by  her  nephew,  Peter  Jay 
jMom’o,  assumed  charge  of  domestic  affair’s.  Her 
letters  to  Mr.  Jay  are  filled  with  practical  matter, 


SARAH  JAY. 


81 


the  rise  and  fall  of  stocks,  the  sale  of  lands,  partic- 
ulars about  money  invested  in  the  National  Bank, 
the  progress  of  the  mill  and  dam  then  being  built 
on  their  country  estate  at  Bedford,  and  news  of 
every  description  relating  to  their  home,  in  which 
she  knew  her  husband  would  be  interested. 

In  one  instance,  she  mentions  the  horses  brought 
to  the  city  from  the  Bedford  farm  and  tells  of  her 
experience  in  finding  a man  to  break  them  for 
carriage  use.  “ He  has  undertaken  it,”  she  writes, 
“ but  he  says  the  coachmen  of  the  city  require  as 
much  breaking  as  the  horses.”  This  somewhat 
facetious  horsebreaker  did  his  work  well,  it  would 
seem,  for  a fortnight  later  Mrs.  Jay  was  able  to 
report : “ The  young  horses  have  become  gentle 
and  tractable.  I rode  out  with  them  last  evening 
and  paid  some  visits  m town.  They  stood  very 
quietly  and,  what  to  me  was  of  equal  consequence, 
they  did  not,  like  a former  pair,  stand  longer  than  I 
wished.” 

And,  in  another  of  her  letters,  Mrs.  Jay  writes 
of  having  sent  her  daughters,  Maria  and  Anne,  to 
the  celebrated  Moravian  school  for  gii’ls  at  Bethle- 
hem, Pa.,  where,  it  has  been  grandiloquently  stated 
“ in  nun-like  seclusion  were  educated  a large  pro- 
portion of  the  belles  who  gave  the  fashionable 
circles  of  New  York  and  Philadelphia  their  inspir- 
ation during  the  last  twenty  years  of  the  century.” 

Thus  we  find  Mrs.  Jay,  in  her  husband’s  absence, 
acting  wisely  and  resolutely  on  her  own  responsi- 


82 


SARAH  JAY, 


bility.  But  we  may  be  sure  that  she  was  very  glad 
to  give  the  reins  of  government  over  to  him  when, 
on  May  7,  1795,  he  returned  home. 

Upon  Ihs  arrival  Mr.  .Jay  was  welcomed  with 
loud  applause.  He  was  escorted  to  his  home  in 
Broadway  amid  the  ringing  of  bells  and  the  boom- 
ing of  cannon.  The  administration  and  those  who 
supported  it  were  enthusiastic  in  their  praise  of 
the  treaty  he  had  secured  from  Great  Britain. 

But  there  were  others,  not  in  sympathy  with 
the  national  government  and  all  its  moves,  who 
denounced  John  Jay  and  his  treaty,  crjnug,  “ Damn 
John  Jay.  Damn  every  one  that  won’t  danm  John 
Jay.  Damn  every  one  that  won’t  put  lights  in  his 
windows  and  sit  up  all  night  damning  John  Jay.” 
And  Mrs.  Jay  had  the  opportunity  of  observing  the 
adverse  side  of  her  husband’s  political  career  when 
he  was  burned  in  effigy  at  Philadelphia  and  when 
Hamilton,  defending  the  treaty,  was  answered  with 
stones. 

However,  m spite  of  opposition,  John  .Jay  was 
elected  governor  of  the  State,  an  office  which  he 
held  for  six  years.  At  the  end  of  his  second  term, 
in  1801,  he  retired  from  public  life  and  he  and  Iris 
family  removed  to  their  pleasant  estate  at  Bedford. 

Mrs.  Jay,  however,  was  not  destined  to  enjoy 
long  the  comfort  brought  by  the  new  life  and 
the  new  home.  She  died  earlj-  in  iMay,  1802, 
before  the  season  of  old  age  with  its  sorrows  and 
disappointments  had  come  upon  her,  and  her  last 


SARAH  JAY. 


days  were  passed  quietly  and  happily  in  the  midst 
of  sweet  country  scenes,  with  her  husband  and 
children  about  her. 

She  and  John  Jay  were  lovers  to  the  end.  “ Tell 
me,”  he  wrote  to  her  only  a short  time  before, 
referring  to  her  eyes,  “ are  they  as  bright  as  ever  ? ” 
And  her  letters  to  him  were  always  what  she  liked 
to  call  them  — “ little  messengers  of  love.” 


* 


TTI. 

THEODOSIA  BURR, 

DAUGHTER  OF  AAROU  BURR. 

Born  in  Albany,  June  23,  1783. 

Died  at  sea,  January  1, 1813. 


“ With  a great  deal  of  wit,  spirit,  and  talent,  and  a face 
strikingly  beautiful,  she  inherited  all  that  a daughter  could 
inherit  of  a father’s  courage  — she  was  a realization  of  her 
father’s  ideal  of  a woman.”  — James  Parton. 

It  was  an  afternoon  in  early  NoYember,  a real 
* Indian  summer  afternoon.  Indeed,  bad  it  not 
been  for  tbe  brownness  of  the  world,  the  russet  hue 
of  wood  and  meadow,  one  might  have  mistaken  the 
day  for  one  in  June,  so  blue  was  the  sky,  so  soft 
the  air,  so  warm  and  caressing  the  sunshine. 

And  the  summer  mood,  which  all  nature  was 
expressing,  had  taken  possession  of  Richmond  Hill 
and  was  lulling  the  place  to  sleeji.  Enthroned 
on  its  grassy  slopes  tlie  imposing  old  house  wore  a 
look  of  drowsy,  calm ; the  door  stood  open  to  the 
breezes,  the  watcli  dog  dozed  upon  the  porch,  the 
curtains  were  drawn  at  all  the  windows,  and  it  was 
as  if  the  whole  household  had  retired  beliind  closed 
eyelids  for  an  afternoon  nap. 

But  down  in  the  linden  grove  it  was  different. 


84 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


85 


Tliere  no  drowsy  calm  pervaded.  Instead  all  was 
life  and  animation,  as  Theodosia  and  her  lover 
Avalked  together  under  the  tall  trees,  in  view  of  the 
shining  river  and  the  beautiful  New  Jersey  shore. 

They  were  engaged  in  a spirited  dispute.  The 
young  man  was  earnest,  eagei',  pleading,  but  it 
Avould  seem  that  he  talked  to  no  purpose.  Theo- 
dosia was  in  a teasing  mood.  One  could  see  that 
by  the  aggravating  pout  of  her  lips,  the  tilt  of  her 
determined  little  chin,  and  the  laughing  light  that 
was  forever  breaking  in  her  eyes. 

She  looked  charming  that  afternoon  in  her  straw- 
colored  gown.  Her  hat,  a big  gypsy  affair  of  rib- 
bons and  flowers,  she  had  taken  off  and  carried 
swung  over  one  arm  while  her  dark  curls,  all  un- 
covered and  fastened  at  one  side  Avith  a bunch  of 
purple  asters,  fell  about  her  face  and  shoulders  like 
a child’s. 

Theodosia’s  curls  were  the  one  things  childish 

o 

about  her.  Her  manner  Avas  mature  in  its  dignity 
and  easy  grace,  her  carriage  in  spite  of  her  short 
stature  was  erect  and  womanly,  and  her  face,  the 
intelligent  brow,  the  frank  eyes,  the  clear-cut  feat- 
ures expressed  a loftiness  of  mind  and  character 
more  attractive  than  any  childish  prettiness  could 
have  been. 

Just  noAV,  in  the  midst  of  the  lively  discussion, 
her  face  Avas  turned  provokingly  from  her  lover’s, 
and  if  he  Avould  talk  at  all  he  must  needs  address 
himself  to  her  curls. 


86 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


“ You  are  determined,  then,  that  yon  will  not 
like  the*land  of  Carolina  ? ” he  was  saying.  “ Poor 
Carolina ! What  has  she  done  to  offend  you, 
Theo?” 

There  was  a sad,  mysterious  shake  of  the  curls. 
“ Ah,  my  friends  have  given  me  shocking  descrip- 
tions of  your  native  State,  Mr.  Alston,”  came  the 
answer. 

“ Shocking ! ” exclaimed  the  young  man,  looking 
properly  mystified.  “ Then  they  have  given  you 
fables  for  facts,  Theo.  What  did  they  say '?  What 
could  they  say  against  my  native  State?”  And 
he  folded  his  arms  as  though  in  righteous  defiance 
of  all  accusation. 

Theodosia  stole  a sly  look  at  him.  “ They  say,” 
she  began,  “ that  your  country  is  very  unhealthy, 
because  of  its  marshy  grounds.” 

Mr.  Alston  received  this  in  smiling  contempt. 
“ Marshy  grounds,  indeed,”  he  ejaculated.  “ What 
of  our  beautiful  hills,  our  fertile  meadows,  and  our 
fragrant  orange  groves  ? Could  your  friends  tell 
you  naught  of  them,  Theo?  ’T is  quite  evident, 
then,  that  some  New  York  beau  has  been  talking 
to  you,  some  ignorant  fellow  who  knows  nothing 
of  the  geography  of  the  most  beautiful  of  States, 
and  believes  every  place  but  the  park  and  the 
battery  a desert  or  a marsh.” 

Theo  directed  a laughing  gaze  upon  her  lover. 
She  liked  him  so,  with  folded  arms  and  frouming 
brows.  His  ruffled  mood  became  him,  she  decided. 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


87 


and  she  continued  teasingly,  “ That  is  not  all  they 
told  me,  Mr.  Alston.” 

The  young  man  gave  the  girl  beside  him  a quick, 
interrogating  glance.  All  her  merriment  had  sud- 
denly vanished  under  her  long  lashes,  and  she  was 
looking  quite  demure.  “Well?”  he  inquired. 

“ As  for  Charleston,”  she  went  on,  growing 
mournful  over  the  horrors  of  her  tale,  “ they  say 
that  the  annual  epidemic  of  yellow  fever  there,  the 
yells  of  whipped  negroes  which  assail  the  ear  on 
every  hand,  and  the  extreme  heat  render  the  place 
a perfect  purgatory.” 

As  she  finished  Theodosia  eyed  the  young  South- 
erner curiously  It  would  be  interesting  to  see  how 
he  would  answer  this  assault  on  his  beloved  city, 
she  reflected. 

She  was  not  disappointed  in  him.  The  frown 
was  still  there,  only  darker,  and  his  voice  quite 
thrilled  with  indignation  as  he  retorted,  “ What ! 
Charleston,  the  most  delightfully  situated  city  in 
America,  accused  of  heat  and  unhealthiness  ! And 
not  only  its  climate,  but  the  disposition  of  its  people 
outraged ! Ah,  Theo,  I find  it  difficult  to  recog- 
nize the  gentle  citizens  of  Charleston  as  you 
describe  them  — cruel  and  ferocious,  delighting  in 
the  screams  of  the  miserable  negro  bleeding  under 
the  scourge  of  relentless  power.  A charming  pict- 
ure that  you  have  given  ! And  have  you  anything 
to  add  to  it  ? ” 

Her  lover’s  sarcasm  made  Theodosia  wonder  at 


88 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


her  own  audacity,  but  she  continued  boldly,  “ I 
might  tell  you  what  I have  heard  of  the  condition 
of  your  society.  That  is  the  worst  of  all.” 

“ Yes,  I dare  say,”  he  remarked  resignedly. 
“We  are  a company  of  barbarians,  I suppose.” 

“ Barbarians  ? No,  not  quite,”  answered  Theo- 
dosia sweetly,  “but  you  are  a veiy  disagreeable, 
unsociable  lot  of  people,  I should  think.  The  men 
and  women  of  Carolina  associate  very  httle,  they 
tell  me.  The  former  all  devote  themselves  to 
hunting,  horse-riding,  and  gaming  and  the  latter 
meet  in  large  parties  conqjosed  entirely  of  them- 
selves to  sip  tea  and  look  prim.  Now,  su’,”  and, 
as  she  spoke,  Theodosia  turned  a disconsolate  face 
to  her  lover,  “ how  can  you  expect  to  make  me 
happy  in  a country  where  I am  only  to  talk  to  the 
women,  sip  tea,  and  look  prim  ? ” 

At  this  final  sally  of  hers,  the  young  Southerner’s 
indignation  vanished,  frown  and  all,  and  he  laughed 
heartily  as  he  retorted,  “ I could  never  expect  to 
make  you  haj^py  in  such  a country,  Theo.  But 
thank  heaven  ! the  real  Carolina  is  a A'ery  different 
sort  of  place  from  the  Carolina  you  have  described. 
No  one  who  has  ever  been  among  us  and  witnessed 
the  polished  state  of  our  society,  the  elegance  of 
our  parties,  the  ease  and  sociability  of  our  manners, 
and  the  constant  and  agreeable  intercourse  between 
the  sexes  would  recognize  the  account  which  you 
have  given  as  a picture  of  our  State.”  Then, 
catching  sight  of  Miss  Theo’s  merry  face,  he  con- 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


89 


tinued,  with  a change  of  tone,  “ And  yon,  Theo, 
you  little  tease,  you  do  not  believe  one  word  of  all 
you  have  been  saying.  Did  you  not  tell  me  only 
the  other  day,  in  a more  serious  mood,  that  already 
you  loved  Carolina  for  my  sake  ? ” 

Theo’s  eyes  fell  under  her  lover’s  searching  glance 
and  she  quickly  turned  her  face  away.  “ You  must 
not  remember  all  that  I tell  you,  Joseph  Alston,” 
she  said. 

“ All,  but  I shall  remember,”  he  answered,  com- 
ing nearer.  “ You  cannot  make  me  forget  any  of 
your  words,  Theo.  Only  I do  regret  that  we  have 
wasted  so  many  in  foolish  argument,  words  that 
might  have  been  spent  in  more  agreeable  discourse  — 
talks  of  our  wedding  day,  for  instance.”  He  sought 
for  a hand  under  the  folds  of  the  straw-colored 
gown,  and  having  found  it  held  it  fast  in  his. 
“■  Let  us  speak  now  of  that  gJorious  time,”  he 
pleaded.  “When  shall  it  he,  sweetheart?” 

“Not  for  a twelvemonth,  Joe,  dear.” 

“ Ah,  you  are  cruel,  Theo,”  protested  the  young 
man.  “ That  is  too  long  a time  — ■ too  long  by  a 
twelvemonth.” 

Theo  shook  her  curls.  “ It  is  too  short  a time 
by  many  years,”  she  said,  and  then  turning  laugh- 
ing, provoking,  mischievous  eyes  upon  her  lover 
she  added,  “ Aristotle  says  a man  should  not  marry 
before  he  is  six  and  thirty.” 

“ A fig  for  Aristotle,”  was  the  contemptuous 
reply.  “ Crahbid  old  sage  that  he  was,  surely  you 
do  not  agree  with  him,  Theodosia  ? ” 


90 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


“ I do  not  approve  of  early  marriages,”  she 
answered  primly  and  once  more  her  face  was  liid- 
den  in  the  shadow  of  her  curls. 

“ And  I do  most  heartily,”  declared  her  lover. 
“ But  let  me  hear  your  objections,  Theo,  that  I may 
annihilate  them  all.” 

His  ardor  and  assurance  were  quite  disconcerting. 
Theodosia  found  it  difficult  to  oppose  him.  “ Want 
of  discretion,”  she  argued  faintly. 

“ That  is  an  objection  sometimes,  I admit.  But, 
Theo,  when  does  a man  arrive  at  the  age  of  dis- 
cretion ? Can  you  answer  me  that  ? ” 

Theo  gave  the  matter  grave  consideration.  “ It 
would  he  difficult  to  say,”  she  replied  doubtfully. 
“Some  men,  a very  few,  reach  it  at  thirty,  some 
again  not  till  fifty,  and  many  not  at  all.” 

Younof  Alston  nodded  in  agreement.  “ You 
are  right,”  he  said.  “ The  age  of  discretion  is  en- 
tirely uncertain.  How  ridiculous,  then,  is  it  not, 
to  fix  on  such  or  such  a period  as  the  discreet  age 
for  marrying?”  Then,  with  a look  at  Theo  that 
had  stolen  a little  of  the  girl’s  own  mischief,  he 
added  slyly,  “ And  is  that  the  only  argument  you 
can  urge  against  an  early  marriage,  madam?” 

“Want  of  fortune,”  she  faltered.  She  was  be- 
ginning to  realize  the  hopelessness  of  further 
argument. 

“ Again  I agree.  But  is  not  that  an  objection  to 
he  considered  differently  in  different  cases  ? Some- 
times a fortune  is  absolutely  necessary  to  a man 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


91 


before  he  marries,  and  sometimes,  alas,  especially 
here  in  your  cold  Northern  States,  a man  marries 
expressly  for  the  purpose  of  making  a fortune.  Is 
not  that  true,  Tlieo  ? ” 

“ I fear  it  is  — only  too  true.” 

“ Well,  then  — hut  why  do  we  talk  in  generali- 
ties ? Allowing  both  your  objections  their  full 
force,  may  there  not  he  a single  case  where  they  do 
not  reach  ? ” 

“As  — for  instance^?” 

“ Well,  let  us  suppose  (for  instance,  merely)  a 
young  man  already  of  the  greatest  discretion,  with 
an  ample  fortune,  to  he  passionately  in  love  with  a 
young  lady  almost  eighteen,  as  discreet  as  himself, 
do  you  think  it  would  he  necessary  to  make  such  a 
young  man  wait  till  thirty  ? ” 

“ And  why  not  ? ” inquired  Theo.  All  this  while 
they  had  been  walking  hand  in  hand.  But  now 
she  drew  away  and  met  his  ardent  gaze  with  a 
challenge  in  her  eyes.  “ You  have  chosen  to  laugh 
at  my  arguments,  Mr.  Alston,”  slie  said.  “ Pray, 
sir,  have  you  any  better  to  show  for  your  side  of 
the  dispute  ? ” 

They  had  left  the  linden  grove  behind  them  and 
were  ascending  the  grassy  slope  that  stretched  be- 
fore the  house.  Once  arrived  at  the  door,  there 
would  he  no  chance  for  further  love-making  and 
Alston,  realizing  this,  knew  that  if  he  were  to  gain 
a victory  over  his  perverse  sweetheart  tliat  afternoon, 
he  must  he  about  it  at  once,  so  he  squared  his  shoul- 


92 


THEODOSIA  BURE. 


ders  and  tlu’ew  back  his  head  as  if  summoningf  all 
his  powers  of  eloquence  and  persuasion. 

“ Theo,”  he  began,  “ there  is  every  reason  in  the 
world  why  a man  should  marry  young.  I cannot 
name  them'all,  but  if  you  will  be  patient,  I will  tell 
you  a few.”  He  paused  a moment,  with  a glance 
at  the  rosy  cheek  and  clustering  curls  beside 
him  and  then,  as  if  drawing  inspiration  from  the 
sight,  he  continued  more  determinedly  than  ever : 
“ When  we  are  young  we  are  the  better  lovers  ; 
our  ideas  are  more  refined ; every  generous  senti- 
ment beats  higher ; and  our  sensibility  is  far  more 
alive  to  every  emotion  our  companion  may  feel. 
Depend  upon  it,  Theo,  the  man  who  does  not  love 
till  thirty  Avill  never,  never  love ; long  before  that 
time  he  will  become  too  much  enamoured  of  his 
own  dear  self  to  think  of  transferring  his  affection 
to  any  other  object.  He  may  marry,  but  interest 
alone  will  direct  his  choice  ; far  from  regarding  lus 
wife  as  the  dearest  friend  of  ’his  life,  he  will  con- 
sider her  but  as  an  unavoidable  encumbrance  on  tlie 
estate  she  brings  him.  Then,  too,  it  is  only  when 
Ave  are  young  that  our  minds  and  dispositions  re- 
ceiA'e  the  complexion  we  gi^m  them ; it  is  only 
then  that  our  habits  are  moulded  and  our  pui-suits 
directed  as  please ; as  Ave  advance  in  life  these 
become  fixed  and  unchangeable  and  instead  of  our 
governing  them  they  goAmrn  us.  Is  it  not  better, 
therefore,  for  the  happiness  of  all,  that  pei-sons 
should  marry  young,  when  they  are  dii’ected  by 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


93 


miitixal  affection  and  may  adapt  themselves  to  each 
other,  instead  of  waiting  till  a time  when  their  i^rej- 
udices  and  hahits  are  so  rooted  that  there  exists 
neither  the  inclination  nor  the  power  to  correct 
them  ? But,  Theo,”  he  broke  off  impetuously,  “ did 
you  never  hear  of  what  Dr.  Franklin  has  to  say  in 
support  of  my  theory  ? He  is  quite  as  good  an  au- 
thority as  Aristotle,  I think,  and  he  declares  that 
those  who  marry  early  may  he  likened  to  two  young 
trees  joined  together  hy  the  hand  of  the  gardener : 

“ ‘ Trunk  knit  with  trunk,  and  branch  witli  branch  entwined 
Advancing  still  more  closely  they  are  joined; 

At  length,  fidl  grown,  no  difference  we  see, 

But  ’stead  of  two  behold  a single  tree ! ’ 

“ And  those,  on  the  other  hand,  who  do  not  marry 
till  late  he  likens  to  two  ancient  oaks : 

“ ‘ Use  all  your  force,  they  yield  not  to  your  hand. 

But  firmly  in  their  usual  stations  stand. 

While  each,  regardless  of  the  other’s  views. 

Stubborn  and  fixed,  its  natural  bent  pursues.’” 

Thus,  with  this  most  appropriate  hit  of  verse,  the 
young  lover  ended  his  plea  and  faced  his  sweet- 
heart smiling  and  triumphant. 

It  was  impossible  to  resist  such  ardent  wooing. 
Theo  clapped  her  hands  and  laughed  gayly  as  she 
retorted : “ ‘ A Daniel  come  to  judgment,  aye, 

a Daniel.’  You  argue  well,  my  friend.  Father 
spoke  truly  when  he  said  that  you  were  horn  to 
be  a lawyer.” 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  house  and 


94 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


mounting  the  steps  to  the  porch,  they  lingered 
there  a moment,  without  speakmg,  in  the  shade 
of  the  lofty  Grecian  columns  and  the  vines  brilliant 
in  autrxmn  colors  that  clustered  around. 

At  length  Theo  raised  her  eyes  slowly  to  her 
lover’s.  “You  must  go,”  she  said  in  accents  of  re- 
gret. “ I hear  father  in  his  study.  He  will  want 
me.” 

The  young  man  took  the  hand  that  she  held  out 
to  him  and  raised  it  to  his  lips  with  true  eighteenth- 
century  gallantry. 

“ But,”  he  pleaded,  “ have  I convinced  you, 
sweetheart?  For  of  what  use  are  arguments,  if 
they  bring  not  conviction  with  them  ? ” 

Theo  met  his  tender,  earnest  gaze  with  a smile 
that  was  a sweet  surrender.  “ I think  I was  con- 
vinced before  you  began  to  speak,  dear  Joe,”  she 
answered,  “and  did  but  oppose  objections  that  I 
might  hear  you  say  what  my  own  heart  ah-eady  told 
me.” 

Then,  without  waiting  for  Alston  to  take  advan- 
tage of  her  pretty  speech,  with  a quick  charming 
gesture  of  farewell,  she  retreated  thi’ough  the  door- 
way. And  having  shut  her  lover  out  with  a sharp 
slam  that  put  an  end  to  further  discoui'se  between 
them,  she  tip-toed  down  the  hall  to  the  library  and 
stood  a moment  on  the  threshold  peering  in. 

It  was  the  library  of  a real  book  lover  upon 
which  she  gazed ; books  lined  the  walls  and  were 
strewn  on  desks  and  tables,  books  of  many  sorts 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


95 


and  subjects,  all  showing  the  careful  and  critical 
taste  of  a scholar. 

In  one  corner  of  the  room  a man 'was  seated 
writing.  He  was  a remarkable  little  gentleman. 
His  hair,  lightly  touched  with  gray,  was  drawn  back 
from  a broad,  smooth  forehead  into  a straight  queue. 
His  features  were  strong  and  regular,  his  eyes 
black,  brilliant,  penetrating.  His  whole  appearance 
expressed  wonderful  charm  and  power. 

At  the  sound  of  Theodosia’s  step  he  did  not  turn 
his  head  but  only  stopped  a moment  in  his  writing 
to  inquire  quietly,  “ Is  that  you,  Theo  ? ” 

“Yes,  father.” 

“ What  have  you  been  doing  ? ” 

“ Oh,  promising  to  marry  Joseph  Alston  again.” 
She  spoke  lightly,  swinging  her  hat  carelessly 
back  and  forth  on  her  arm.  Her  father  smiled  at 
her  words  and  as  he  resumed  his  writing  inquired 
of  her  playfully,  “ And  how  many  times  a day  do 
you  go  through  that  ceremony,  daughter?  ” 

Theo  gave  a little  sigh.  “ As  many  times,  perhaps, 
as  you  go  through  the  ceremony  of  writing  your 
name,”  she  answered  with  a glance  at  the  pile  of 
letters  on  his  desk ; and  then  with  a chanare  of  tone 
that  had  in  it  an  nndercurrent  of  seriousness  she 
added,  “ Father,  it  is  coming  soon  — my  marriage, 
I mean.  Joseph  is  in  a great  hurry.” 

Aaron  Burr  looked  up  from  his  writing.  A 
shadow  crossed  his  face ; but  it  was  gone  almost 
instantly. 


96 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


“ Well,  the  sooner  the  better  — for  him  and  you, 
I suppose,”  he  answered  cheerfully. 

The  shadow  that  had  been  upon  the  father’s  face 
was  reflected  on  the  daughter’s.  It  was  the  thought 
of  theu-  future  separation  that  saddened  them,  tliis 
their  one  cause  for  regret  in  the  happy  prospect  of 
Theodosia’s  marriage. 

But,  as  was  their  way,  their  sorrow  was  expressed 
only  in  the  one  brief  look  that  passed  between 
them.  It  was  the  principle  of  Aaron  Burr  to  steel 
himself  against  all  the  vexations  and  disappoint- 
ments of  life  and  never  to  indulge  in  a lament. 
This  principle  he  had  instilled  most  vigorously  into 
his  young  daughter  and  with  this  result  — Theo- 
dosia was  as  brave  a little  stoic  as  Inmself. 

Now,  with  a merry  look,  she  came  and  stood 
beside  him. 

“ Busy — always  so  busy,”  she  said,  shaking  her 
head  wearily  over  the  books  and  papers  that  sur- 
rounded him.  “ When  your  mind  is  so  full  of  all 
this  serious  matter,”  she  continued,  pointing  to  the 
books,  “what  room  can  there  be  for  Theodosia  in 
your  thoughts  ?” 

He  laid  Iris  hand  caressingly  on  hers  as  it  rested 
on  the  desk  beside  him.  “ Little  girl,”  he  replied, 
“ the  ideas  of  which  3'ou  are  the  subject  which  pass 
daily  through  my  brain  would,  if  committed  to 
writing,  fill  a much  larger  volume  than  an}’  of  those 
jmu  see  here  before  you.” 

She  answered  him  with  a happy  laugh  and  seated 


HE  LAID  HIS  HAND  CARESSINGLY  ON  HERS 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


97 


lierself  on  a low  hassock  at  his  feet.  After  a 
moment’s  silence  she  looked  up  at  him,  half  smiling 
and  half  serious.  “ Father,  what  do  you  suppose  ? ” 
she  said  ; “ Joseph  is  jealous  — jealous  of  you.  He 
declares  that  I love  you  better  than  I love  him.” 

“ The  ingrate,”  ejaculated  her  father  in  pretended 
anger.  “ When  you  are  leaving  me  for  him  ! Does 
it  not  seem  that  I have  the  greater  cause  for 
jealousy  ? ” 

Theo  shook  her  curls;  a wonderful  smile  broke 
in  the  depths  of  her  dark  eyes.  “Wait  till  I tell 
you  what  I told  him,”  she  answered.  As  she  spoke 
she  turned  her  face  away  from  her  father’s,  as  if  shy 
of  showing  the  great  love  which  he  inspired.  “ I 
said,  ‘ Joseph  Alstone,  I love  you.  I love  you  as  a 
woman  loves  the  man  she  is  going  to  marry.  But 
you  must  not  expect  me  to  love  you  in  the  way 
that  I love  my  father.  You  are  to  me  like  other 
men,  only  dearer.  But  my  father  is  not  like  other 
men  to  me,  he  is  elevated  far  above  them.  I regard 
him  with  so  strange  a mixture  of  admiration,  rever- 
ence, and  love  that  very  little  would  be  necessary 
to  make  me  worship  liini  as  a superior  being.  And 
when,  after  a contemplation  of  his  character,  I revert 
to  myself,  how  insignificant  do  my  best  qualities 
appear  ! My  vanity  would  be  greater  if  I had  not 
been  placed  so  near  him.  And  yet,  my  relationship 
to  him  is  my  pride.  I had  rather  not  live  than  not 
be  the  daughter  of  Aaron  Burr.’  ” 

As  Theodosia  spoke,  her  head  was  high,  her 


98 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


cheeks  flushed,  her  eyes  shining.  Her  whole  look 
expressed  the  enthnsiasm  of  her  love  for  her  father. 
And  Aaron  Burr  as  he  listened,  while  rejoicing  in 
the  picture  which  his  daughter  carried  of  him  in 
her  heart,  must  have  thought  with  a grim  sort  of 
smile  of  that  other  very  different  picture  which  the 
world  had  of  him. 

And  there  were  the  two  men  as  well  as  the  two 
pictures.  Aaron  Burr,  the  father  of  Theodosia, 
was  a very  different  sort  of  person  from  Aaron 
Burr,  the  politician,  intriguing  with  all  his  might 
to  secui'e  his  election  to  the  presidency.  All  that 
was  good  in  liiin  came  out  under  the  sunny  influ- 
ence of  Theodosia’s  love. 

Theodosia’s  love  for  her  father  was  of  no  ordi- 
nary nature.  It  began  at  a very  early  age,  it  re- 
mained faithful  in  the  time  of  his  disgrace  and 
exile,  and  lasted  to  the  daj'  of  her  own  tragic  death. 

When  she  was  still  a veiy  small  child,  only  three 
years  old,  she  was  his  most  devoted  admirer. 
While  absent  from  home  Burr  u'rote  sending  his 
love  to  “ the  smiling  little  girl.”  He  did  not  know 
that,  after  his  departure,  the  smiling  little  girl  had 
become  a tearful  little  girl  who  refused  to  be 
comforted  and  could  not  endure  to  hear  his  name 
mentioned  in  her  presence.  “Your  dear  little 
daughter,’’  they  Avrote  him,  “seeks  you  tAventy 
times  a daj",  calls  you  to  your  meals,  and  will 
not  suffer  your  chaii’  to  be  filled  by  any  of  the 
family.” 


THEODOSIA  BURE. 


99 


Yet  in  spite  of  the  tears  that  always  came  when- 
ever her  father  was  away  from  her,  Theodosia 
really  was  a “ smiling  little  girl.”  There  Avas  reason 
why  she  should  smile.  She  had  been  born  into  a 
happy  home. 

At  the  time  of  her  birth,  Burr  Avas  a successful 
young  laAvyer  ; a brilliant  career  Avas  predicted  for 
him.  Handsome,  fascinating,  of  good  family  and 
considerable  fortune,  he  had  been  regarded  as  a de- 
sirable parti  by  the  belles  of  Ncav  York.  He  might 
have  aspired  to  the  hand  of  a Clinton,  a Livingston, 
a Van  Renssalaer.  But  instead  he  had  married  a 
Avoman  ten  years  his  senior,  neither  rich  nor  pretty, 
a AvidoAV  Avith  tAvo  sons. 

While  he  Avas  still  a Revolutionary  colonel. 
Burr  had  discovered  the  attraction  of  the  “Her- 
mitage,” Avhere  lived  the  Widow  Prevost,  her 
mother  and  sister.  There,  in  the  pleasant  library 
of  the  house,  he  and  the  Avidow  had  held  many 
interesting  conversations  inspired  by  the  books 
they  read,  conversations  Avhich  opened  Burr’s  eyes 
to  the  beautiful  mind  and  character  of  the  woman 
Avith  whom  he  talked.  He  grcAV  to  love  the 
WidoAv  Prevost  Avith  a reverence  such  as  he  had 
never  before  felt  for  any  AVoman.  “ The  mother 
of  my  Theo,”  he  Avas  heard  to  say  in  the  days 
when  she  of  Avhom  he  spoke  had  long  been  dead, 
“ Avas  the  best  woman  and  the  finest  lady  I have 
ever  knoAAm.” 

In  July,  1782,  Burr  and  Theodosia  Prevost  were 


100 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


married.  For  a year  they  lived  in  Albany.  There 
Theodosia  was  born  on  the  23d  of  June,  1783. 
She  was  their  only  child. 

Shortly  after  her  birth  they  moved  to  New  York 
and  rented  a house  in  Maiden  Lane,  and  later, 
so  prosperous  a business  man  did  Buit  become, 
they  acquired  possession  of  a country  seat,  Rich- 
mond Hill,  a beautiful  spot  on  the  banks  of  the 
Hudson,  about  two  miles  above  the  city. 

At  Richmond  Hill,  in  the  midst  of  swelling 
meadow  land  and  venerable  shade  trees,  Theodosia 
grew  up  under  a Spartan  rigidity  of  discipline.  It 
was  her  father’s  ambition  to  make  of  her  an  intelli- 
gent and  noble  woman.  “ If  I could  foresee,”  he 
wrote  to  his  wife,  “ that  Theo  would  become  a 
mere  fashionable  woman,  Avith  all  the  attendant 
frivolity  and  vacuity  of  mind,  adorned  with  what- 
ever gmce  and  allurement,  I Avould  earnestly  pray 
God  to  take  her  forthwith  hence.  But  I yet  hope  by 
her  to  convince  the  world  what  neither  sex  appears 
to  realize,  that  Avomen  haA^e  souls.” 

He  tauo’ht  her  to  be  bra  Am  and  to  endure  hard- 

O 

ship.  While  she  was  still  a A’ery  little  girl,  he  re- 
quired her  to  sleep  alone  and  to  go  about  the  house 
in  the  dark.  He  asked  that  her  breaHast  eveiy 
morning  should  be  of  bread  and  milk  and  he  espe- 
cially insisted  upon  her  being  regular  and  punctual 
in  all  things. 

One  evening  a Amlume  entitled  “ A Vindication 
of  the  Rights  of  W oman,”  by  Marj'  Wollstonecraft, 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


101 


chanced  to  come  under  his  notice.  Until  late  into 
the  night  he  sat  up  reading  it.  It  left  a deep  im- 
pression on  his  mind. 

In  the  spirit  of  that  book,  he  undertook  the  edu- 
cation of  his  daughter.  He  went  on  the  principle 
that  Theodosia  was  as  clever  and  capable  as  a boy, 
— this  was  an  unusual  principle  in  the  days  when 
Tlieodosia  was  a little  girl,  — and  he  gave  her  the 
same  advantages  which  he  would  have  given  a son. 
Slie  was  not  only  instructed  in  the  usual  feminine 
accomplishments,  French  and  music,  but  in  the 
more  manly  branches  of  education,  mathematics, 
Greek,  and  Latin.  Every  day  she  had  her  hours 
for  “ciphering,”  and  she  learned  to  read  Virgil, 
Horace,  Terence,  Lucian,  and  Homer,  in  the 
original. 

Her  father  himself  superintended  her  education, 
even  to  the  smallest  details.  From  Philadelphia, 
where  he  was  stationed  as  United  States  Senator, 
he  sent  her  fond  letters  of  advice  and  criticism. 
He  talked  to  her  of  her  tutors,  directed  her  how  to 
pursue  her  studies,  and  corrected  the  faults  in 
spelling,  English,  and  punctuation  that  appeared 
in  her  letters.  And  at  his  request  she  sent  him 
every  week  a journal  of  her  doings  and  of  her 
progress  in  learning. 

Those  are  charming  pictures  we  have  of  Aaron 
Burr  waiting  about  iii  the  Government  building  for 
the  arrival  of  the  post  that  should  bring  the  letter 
or  diary  directed  in  Theodosia’s  girlish  hand  ; and 


102 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


again,  seated  at  his  desk  in  the  noisy  Senate  cham- 
ber in  the  midst  of  the  dehatmg  and  the  voting, 
writing  a reply  to  his  “ dear  little  daughter  ” in 
time  to  catch  the  return  mail  to  New  York. 

His  letters  to  Theodosia  are  delightful.  They 
show  us  his  imperial  will,  his  graceful  speech,  his 
delicate  twists  and  turns  of  thought,  all  those  fas- 
cinating attributes  of  mind  with  which  he  capti- 
vated so  many  men  and  women.  Sometimes  he 
scolds  her.  “ What,”  he  exclaims,  “ can  neither 
affection  nor  civility  induce  you  to  devote  to  me 
tlie  small  portion  of  time  which  I have  required? 
Are  authority  and  compulsion,  then,  the  only  en- 
gines by  which  you  can  he  moved?  For  shame, 
Theo.  Do  not  give  me  reason  to  think  so  ill  of 
you.”  Sometimes  he  is  only  reproachful.  “ Ten 
or  fifteen  minutes,”  he  says,  “ should  not  be  an  un- 
reasonable sacrifice  from  you  to  me.”  Again  he  has 
only  praise  for  her.  “ lo  triumphe''  he  writes  jubi- 
lantly. “ There  is  not  a word  misspelled  either  in 
your  journal  or  letter,  which  cannot  be  said  of  a 
single  page  you  ever  wrote  before.  The  fable  is 
quite  classical  and  written  most  beautifully.  But 
what  has  become  of  your  Alpha  Beta  ? Discour- 
aged? That  is  impossible.  Laid  aside  for  the 
present?  That,  indeed,  is  possible,  but  by  no 
means  probable.  Shall  I guess  again?  Yes;  5-ou 
mean  to  surprise  me  with  some  astonishing  prog- 
ress.” And  again  he  cheers  and  encourages  her 
along  the  difficult  path  of  learning.  “ You  must 


THEODOSIA  BURR, 


103 


not  puzzle  all  clay,  my  dear  little  girl,  at  one  hard 
lesson,”  he  tells  her.  “ After  puzzling  faithfully 
one  hour,  apply  to  your  arithmetic,  and  do  enough 
to  convince  the  doctor  that  you  have  not  been  idle. 
Neither  must  you  be  discouraged  by  one  unlucky 
day.  The  doctor  is  a very  reasonable  man  and 
makes  all  due  allowances  for  the  levities  as  well  as 
for  the  stupidity  of  children.  I think  you  will  not 
often  challenge  his  indulgence  on  either  score.” 

And  Theodosia  did  not  “ challenge  indulgence  ” 
very  often.  Indeed,  she  was  an  unusually  smart 
and  womanly  little  girl.  Her  father’s  frequent 
absences  from  home,  her  mother’s  long  and  painful 
illness,  terminating  in  death  when  Theodosia  was 
eleven  years  old,  brought  early  those  cares  and  re- 
sponsibilities that  mature  and  strengthen  character. 
While  she  was  still  only  a child  in  years,  she  as- 
sumed charge  of  her  father’s  household.  The  dis- 
tinguished men  who  gathered  in  Burr’s  pleasant, 
hospitable  home  were  charmed  with  the  little  hos- 
tess, her  playful  wit,  her  self-poise  and  dignity  of 
manner. 

Burr  of  course  was  very  proud  of  his  talented 
young  daughter,  and  delighted  to  present  her  to  his 
guests.  We  may  imagine  with  what  satisfaction 
he  regarded  lier  as  she  conversed  in  fluent  French 
with  Louis  Philippe,  Volney,  Talleyrand,  and  other 
noted  Frenchmen  who  came  to  visit  him  at  Rich- 
mond Hill.  And  as  for  Theo,  when  she  was  chat- 
ting gayly  with  the  entertaining  Frenchmen  we 


104 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


may  be  sure  she  did  not  regret  the  long,  tedious 
hours  she  had  spent  under  the  tuition  of  her  exact- 
ing French  governess. 

Those  were  among  her  hours  of  triumph  and  so, 
too,  was  that  memorable  occasion  when  she  enter- 
tained Brant,  the  Indian  chief.  He  came  to  her 
with  a letter  of  introduction  from  her  father  in 
Philadelphia.  The  young  mistress  of  Richmond 
Hill  — she  was  only  fourteen  at  the  time  — re- 
ceived the  famous  “ warrior  bold  ” unth  a welcome 
that  had  in  it  all  the  brightness  and  charm  of  wom- 
anhood. She  invited  several  of  her  father’s  friends 
to  meet  him,  Volney,  Bishop  Moore,  Dr.  Bard,  and 
Dr.  Hosack.  With  easy  grace  and  something  of  a 
regal  air,  she  presided  at  the  head  of  the  table  and 
her  distinguished  visitors  were  her  most  devoted 
slaves. 

In  those  days  when  she  was  mistress  of  Rich- 
mond Hill  after  her  mother's  death,  Theodosia  was 
more  than  ever  before  the  object  of  her  father’s 
thought  and  love.  “ The  happiness  of  my  life,”  he 
wrote  to  her,  “ depends  on  3'our  exertions ; for  what 
else,  for  whom  else,  do  I live  ? ” 

He  continued  to  superintend  her  education. 
Notliing,  no  social  duties,  no  business  or  pleasure 
of  any  sort,  was  allowed  to  interfere  with  her 
advancement  in  learning.  At  sixteen  Theodosia 
was  still  a school-girl,  though  her  companions  of 
the  same  age  had  abjured  all  study  books  and  were 
giving  their  entii-e  attention  to  gowns,  parties,  and 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


105 


beaux.  And  if  ever  Theodosia  was  inclined  to 
make  comparisons  and  sigh  over  the  wearisome- 
ness of  lessons,  her  father  would  gravely  remon- 
strate. “And  do  you  regret  that  you  are  not  also 
a woman  ? ” he  wrote ; “ that  you  are  not  numbered 
in  that  galaxy  of  beauty  that  adorns  an  assembly 
room,  coquetting  for  admiration  and  attracting 
flattery?  No,  I answer  with  confidence.  You  feel 
that  you  are  maturing  for  solid  friendship.  The 
friends  you  gain  you  will  never  lose ; and  no  one, 
I think,  will  dare  to  insult  your  understanding  by 
such  compliments  as  are  most  graciously  received 
by  too  many  of  your  sex.” 

No  man,  perhaps,  was  more  at  home  in  an 
“ assembly  room  ” than  Aaron  Burr  and  certainly 
no  man  knew  better  the  women  whose  ixnderstand- 
ing  one  might  “ insult  ” with  idle  compliments. 
And  it  was  because  he  had  so  little  respect  for 
those  women,  whom  he  pretended  to  admire,  that 
he  determined  to  make  a different  woman  of  his 
Theo.  In  giving  her  an  education  he  gave  her  a 
mind  above  flattery  and  foolish  adulation. 

Theodosia’s  education,  however,  was  not  con- 
fined to  intellectual  pursuits.  Her  father,  while  he 
insisted  on  a rigorous  course  of  book-learning  for 
lier,  was  also  mindful  of  her  health.  His  daughter 
was  taught  to  ride,  to  skate,  and  to  dance. 

In  dancing  she  was  especially  proficient.  Her 
father  was  much  pleased  with  her  progress  in  that 
art.  Whenever  he  was  at  home  on  her  dancing- 


106 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


school  evenings  he  delighted  to  play  escort  to  her. 
“ Your  being  in  the  ballet  charms  me,”  he  wrote. 
“ If  you  are  to  practise  on  Wednesday  evening,  do 
not  stay  away  for  the  expectation  of  receiving  me. 
If  you  should  be  at  the  ballet  I will  go  forthwith 
to  see  you.” 

At  length  Theodosia  arrived  at  the  age  when, 
with  her  father’s  consent,  she  might  be  promoted 
from  dancing-schools  to  parties.  He  and  she 
chatted  merrily  together  about  those  parties.  But 
even  when  such  frivolities  were  the  subject  of  their 
discourse,  Burr  did  not  forget  his  character  of 
instructor.  He  coaxed  Theodosia  to  make  theme- 
topics,  as  it  were,  of  her  parties. 

“ What  novel  of  Miss  Burney,”  he  asked  her, 
“is  that  in  which  the  heroine  begins  by  an  inter- 
esting account  of  the  little  details  of  her  dSbut  in 
London  and  particularly  of  a ball  where  she  met 
Lord  Somebody  and  did  twenty  ridiculous  things  ? 
I want  such  a description  of  a ball  from  you.  Be 
pleased  to  read  those  first  letters  of  the  novel 
referred  to  and  take  them  for  a model.” 

At  the  time  when  she  was  receivins^  lettere  of 
this  pleasant  sort  from  her  father,  Theo  was  a 
charming  little  debutante.  In  spite  of  her  beautj-, 
her  talents,  and  her  high  position  as  the  daughter 
of  Aaron  Burr,  she  was  delightfully  simple  and 
unaffected.  Such  was  the  result  of  a sensible  edu- 
cation and  her  own  sweet  nature. 

Of  course  she  had  many  friends.  We  catch 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


107 


glimpses  of  them  in  the  letters  from  her  father. 
He  wrote  to  her  from  Albany : “ One  would  think 
that  the  town  was  going  into  mourning  for  your 
absence.  I am  perpetually  stopped  in  the  street 
by  little  and  big  girls.  Where  is  Miss  Burr? 
Won’t  she  come  up  this  winter?  Oh,  why  did  n’t 
yon  bring  her  ? ” etc. 

She  also  had  many  admirers.  We  have  a hint 
of  them  in  one  of  the  jovial  Edward  Livingston’s 
amusing  puns  that  has  come  down  to  us.  He  was 
mayor  of  New  York  when  Theodosia  was  one  of 
its  ruling  belles.  One  day  he  took  the  young  lady 
aboard  a French  frigate  lying  in  the  harbor.  “ You 
must  bring  none  of  your  sparks  on  board,”  he 
warned  her  in  merry  raillery,  “for  they  have  a 
magazine  here  and  we  shall  all  be  blown  up.” 

However,  Theodosia’s  admirers  — “sparks,”  shall 
we  call  them  ? — were  not  long  allowed  to  remain 
in  evidence.  There  came  that  impetuous  young 
fellow  from  the  South  who,  loving  Theodosia,  was 
determined  to  win  her  though  all  the  beaux  of  New 
York  might  challenge  his  suit.  He  straightway 
routed  his  rivals  and  captured  his  love. 

We  who  know  Joseph  Alston  and  his  eloquent 
ways  of  wooing  cannot  wonder  at  his  success.  He 
was  a lover  worth  having  and  we  like  Theodosia 
all  the  better  because  she  made  choice  of  him.  As 
we  read  of  their  laughing  and  sighing,  their  teas- 
ing, disputing,  and  happy  makings-up,  we  think  of 
them  fondly  and  the  blessings  of  our  twentieth 


108 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


century  travel  gayly  back  to  those  sweethearts  of 
long  ago. 

A few  of  the  love-letters  that  passed  between 
them  have  survived  and  give  glimpses  of  their 
charmmg  personalities.  “Pray  how  does  iMiss  P. 
walk?”  inquires  Theo  the  tease.  Miss  P., it  ap- 
pears, was  one  of  Joseph’s  old-time  “ flames.”  And 
Joseph,  the  ever-ready,  makes  answer,  “You  ask 
how  Miss  P.  walks.  If  it  is  your  object,  from 
knowing  how  you  stand  with  her  in  point  of  forces, 
to  preserve  better  what  you  have  won,  receive  a 
general  lesson.  Continue  in  every  respect  exactly 
as  you  are  and  you  please  me  most.”  Again  the 
highly  accomplished  and  intellectual  Miss  Buit 
speaks  to  her  lover,  “ I wish  you  would  acquire 
French,”  she  tells  him.  And  thus  replies  the  wily 
young  Southerner  : “ You  wish  me  to  acquire 

French.  I already  understand  something  of  it  and 
\vith  a little  practice  would  soon  speak  it.  I prom- 
ise you,  therefore,  if  you  become  my  instructress,  in 
less  than  two  months  after  our  marriage  to  con- 
verse with  you  entirely  in  that  language.  I fix  the 
period  after  our  marriage,  for  I cannot  think  of 
being  corrected  in  the  mistakes  I may  make  by  any 
other  person  than  my  wife.”  It  is  only  occasionally 
that  we  discern  a trace  of  the  real  Theo,  the  Theo 
beliind  all  the  talk  and  laughter,  the  Theo  of  the 
loving  heart  who  complains  of  the  “ packet  ” bear- 
ing the  letter  from  Carolina,  the  truant  packet  that 
has  been  “ delayed  by  head  winds  ” and  has  not 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


109 


yet  arrived.  “ My  father,”  she  makes  confession  to 
her  lover,  “langhs  at  my  impatience  to  hear  from 
yon  and  says  I am  in  love.” 

As  the  winter  snows  of  the  year  1800-01  deep- 
ened on  the  ground,  the  time  for  Theo’s  marriage 
approached.  The  ceremony  was  to  be  performed 
in  Albany,  where  Burr  was  numbered  among  the 
members  of  the  New  York  Legislature.  Theo  and 
her  father  took  the  journey  from  New  York  to 
Albany  together. 

It  was  a period  of  intense  excitement  for  them. 
Not  only  was  one  of  them  to  be  married  but  the 
other  was  very  near  to  being  elected  President  of 
the  United  States.  The  names  Burr  and  Jefferson 
were  in  all  mouths  and  the  struggle  between  the 
rival  candidates  had  by  a tie  vote  in  the  electoral 
college  been  thrown  into  the  House  of  Represent- 
atives. We  can  imagine  that  Aaron  Burr  and  his 
daughter  had  much  to  occupy  their  thoughts  as 
they  journeyed  northward. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  the  excitement  and  serious- 
ness, Theo  could  speak  with  her  accustomed  light 
banter.  It  was  thus  that  she  wrote  to  her  lover 
from  Poughkeepsie,  one  of  the  stopping  places 
along  the  route,  “ Thus  far  have  we  advanced  on 
the  terrible  journey  from  Avhich  you  predicted  so 
many  evils,  without  meeting  even  with  inconven- 
ience. How  strange  that  Mr.  Alston  should  be 
wrong  ! Do  not,  however,  pray  for  misfortunes  to 
befall  us  that  your  character  may  be  retrieved ; it 


110 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


were  useless,  I assure  you ; although  I am  very 
sensible  how  anxious  you  must  now  he  to  inspire 
me  with  all  clue  respect  and  reverence,  I should 
prefer  to  feel  it  in  any  other  way.  We  shall  go 
from  hence  to  Albany  in  a sleigh  and  hope  to  arrive 
on  Sunday  evening  that  we  may  be  settled  on 
Thursday.  Adieu.  Health  and  happiness.  Theo- 
dosia.” 

To  Albany  along  the  trail  that  Theodosia  and  her 
father  had  travelled,  the  young  lover  followed,  eager 
to  claim  liis  bride.  And  on  a bright  day,  early  in 
February,  while  the  world  still  Avore  its  bridal  veil 
of  snow,  Theodosia  Burr  and  Joseph  Alston  were 
married. 

Journeying  southward  to  Carolina  and  “ The 
Oalcs,”  Avhere  Theodosia  was  to  find  a new  land 
and  a neAV  home,  the  bride  and  groom  stopped  at 
Washington.  There  Theodosia  had  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  her  father  inaugurated  as  Vice-President. 
It  was  an  honor  only  second  to  that  which  she  had 
hoped  for  him  and  there  Avere  those  who  whispered 
reassuringly  in  her  ear  that  it  Avould  not  be  long 
before  she  might  behold  him  President. 

Thus,  in  a flood  of  happiness  and  glory,  the  new 
life  opened  auspiciously  for  Theodosia  Alston,  and 
as  she  looked  toward  the  future  she  seemed  to  see 
the  promise  of  even  greater  happiness  and  glory. 

The  first  three  years  of  Theodosia’s  married  life 
fulfilled  their  promise.  Their-  only  cloud  Avas  her 
separation  from  her  father.  She  could  not  restrain 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


Ill 


her  sorrow  on  that  score  and  expressed  it  in  her 
letters  to  him.  Burr  replied  with  characteristic 
stoicism,  “ Certain  parts  of  your  letter  I cannot 
answer.  Let  us  think  of  the  expected  meeting  and 
not  the  present  separation.  God  bless  thee  ever.” 

Yet,  with  all  his  stoicism,  Burr  missed  his  “little 
Theo.”  Now  and  then,  in  his  letters  to  her,  he 
sounded  a note  of  sadness  and  regret.  Shortly 
after  her  departure  from  Washington  he  told  her, 
“Your  little  letter  from  Alexandria  assured  me  of 
your  safety  and  for  a moment  consoled  me  for  your 
absence.  The  only  solid  consolation  is  the  belief 
that  you  will  be  happy  and  that  we  shall  often 
meet.”  And  again,  writing  to  her  from  his  New 
York  home,  where  there  was  so  much  to  remind 
him  of  the  daughter  who  was  gone,  he  said,  “I  ap- 
proached home  as  I would  approach  the  sepulchre 
of  my  friends.  Dreary,  solitary,  comfortless.  It 
was  no  longer  liome.’’^ 

We  can  only  imagine  how  words  such  as  these, 
wrung  from  the  heart  of  a man  so  uncomplaining 
as  Aaron  Burr,  must  have  affected  the  loving  little 
daughter  to  whom  they  were  addressed.  Perhaps 
as  she  read  them  she  almost  wished  herself  away 
from  all  her  new  happiness  and  back  again  amid 
the  scenes  of  her  childhood  that  she  might  comfort 
her  lonely  father  and  make  home  home  for  him  once 
more.  But  fortunately  Theo  did  not  often  have 
occasion  to  make  such  a wish.  Her  father’s  letters 
to  her  were,  for  the  most  part,  written  in  their  usual 


112 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


cheerful,  merry  vein  and  he  seemed  so  happy  in  her 
happiness  that  she  had  reason  to  feel  herself  free  to 
enjoy  without  regret. 

And  there  was  much  in  the  new  life  to  make  en- 
joyment easy.  The  man  whom  she  had  learned  to 
love,  when  he  came  courting  her  in  her  Xorthern 
home,  she  found  even  more  lovable  as  a devoted 
husband  in  his  own  sunny  Southern  land.  He  was, 
moreover,  a great  man  in  Carolina,  a man  of  wealth, 
talents,  and  political  possibilities.  Many  honors 
Avere  waiting  for  him.  It  only  needed  Theodosia’s 
inspiring  influence  to  urge  him  on  from  step  to  step, 
until  in  time  he  was  raised  to  the  position  of  gov- 
ernor of  his  State. 

For  her  husband’s  sake  and  for  her  father’s  and 
her  own  as  well,  Theodosia  was  cordially  received 
in  the  South.  Carolina,  she  discovered,  was  a dif- 
ferent sort  of  place  from  the  Carolina  which  she  had 
pictured  when  in  the  days  before  lier  marriage,  as 
Joseph  Alston’s  proAmking  little  sweetheart,  she 
had  been  pleased  to  tease  her  loAmr  about  his  “ native 
State.”  She  was  not  forced  to  pass  her  time  as 
she  had  conjectured,  in  “ sipping  tea  and  looking 
prim.”  Instead,  she  Avas  royally  entertained  by 
the  men  and  Avomen  of  Carolina.  Her  winteis  in 
Charleston  were  a gay  round  of  social  pleasures. 
Her  summers  AAmre  more  quiet.  The}'  were  passed 
either  in  the  mountains  of  Carolina  or  with  her 
father  at  Kichmond  Hill. 

Thus  the  time  passed  merrily,  happily,  and  Avith 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


113 


appalling  fleetness  for  Theodosia  Alston  and  in 
the  second  spring  of  her  marriage  “ the  hoy,” 
Aaron  Burr  Alston,  was  horn.  Of  course  there 
never  was  so  remarkahle  a child  as  that  one ; so 
thought  the  hahy  Aaron’s  mamma  and  papa,  his 
grandmamma  and  grandpapa  Alston,  and  that  jolly 
Vice-President  of  a grandfather,  the  man  for  whom 
the  little  chap  was  named.  Theodosia  regarded 
her  son  as  the  “ crowning  blessing  ” of  her  life. 
She  used  to  wonder  and  almost  tremhle  at  thought 
of  her  great  happiness.  It  was  as  if  she  divined 
something  of  the  sorrow  and  tragic  fate  that  lay 
before  her. 

It  is  pleasant  to  remember  Theodosia  as  she  was 
then,  in  those  first  years  of  joyous  wifehood  and 
motherhood ; and  through  the  medium  of  her 
father’s  letters  and  her  own  we  are  able  to  know 
her  quite  intimately. 

In  spite  of  the  added  dignity  that  had  come  with 
her  marriage,  Theodosia  was  still  very  much  a 
child.  So  she  told  her  father.  “ All  your  trouble, 
good  precepts,  and  better  example,”  she  said,  “ have 
been  thrown  away  on  me.  I am  still  a child. 
Your  letter  of  the  7th  inst.  reached  me  yesterday; 
of  course  it  made  me  very  happy;  but  those  pretty 
little  playthings  from  Dr.  INI’Kinnon  delighted  me. 
I looked  at  them  over  and  over,  with  as  much 
pleasure  as  a miser  over  his  hoard.  But  you  must 
send  me  the  shawl ; I shall  be  down  at  the  races 
and  want  to  have  the  gratification  of  displaying  it.” 


114 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


And  her  father  answered  with  true  appreciation  of 
her  youngness:  “You  are  a good  girl  to  write  so 
often.  Oh,  yes  ! I knew  how  much  of  a child 
you  were  when  I sent  the  pretty  things.” 

Of  course  to  her  father,  especially,  she  was  still 
a child,  and  he  treated  her  as  one.  He  joked  her 
just  as  he  used  to  do.  “You  made  two  more  con- 
quests on  your  Northern  tom-,”  he  informed  her, 
“ ‘ King  Brant  ’ and  the  stage  driver,  both  of  whom 
have  been  profuse  in  theii’  eulogies.  Brant  has 
written  me  two  letters  on  the  subject.  It  would 
have  been  quite  in  style  if  he  had  scalped  your 
husband  and  made  you  Queen  of  the  IMohawks.” 
Then  the  teasing  papa  goes  on  to  make  playful 
mention  of  Theo’s  devotion  to  her  husband.  “ Tell 
me  that  Mari”  (her  name  for  her  husband)  “is 
happy,”  he  wrote  her,  “ and  I shall  know  you  are.” 

And  sometimes  he  would  scold  her,  much  the 
same  as  when  she  was  a little  girl  and  had  neglected 
to  write  her  letters  on  time,  or  to  compose  her  jour- 
nal. “ Five  weeks  without  hearing  from  you,”  he 
wrote  her.  “Intolerable  ! Now  I think  to  repose 
myself  in  sullen  silence  for  five  weeks  from  this 
date.  I know  the  apples  and  nuts  ” (which  he  was 
sending  to  her)  “ will  bring  you  out.  Tlius  cliildren 
are  moved ; but  I also  thought  that  a pretty  httle 
letter,  even  without  bonbons,  would  have  done  the 
same.  Adieu,  my  dear  little  negligent  baggage.” 

Occasionally,  however,  it  was  Theodosia  hemelf 
who  had  to  do  the  scolding,  thus  turning  the  tables, 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


115 


as  it  were,  upon  Papa  Burr.  Now  it  was  because 
he  absented  himself  from  New  York  while  she  was 
there.  “ Oher  petit  pere,”  she  Avrote  him,  “ the  hoy 
kisses  you  but  I do  not  because  you  remained  so 
long  in  Philadelphia.”  And  again  it  was  because 
he  neglected  to  write  to  her  with  his  customary 
promptness.  “ I have  been  here  about  a week, 
clier  pire”  she  objected,  “ and  have  not  received  a 
line  from  you.  I do  not  know  whether  to  be  most 
sorry  or  mad;  a little  of  both  troubles  me  at  pres- 
ent but,  to  punish  you  for  your  silence,  I Avill  not 
tell  you  which  predominates.  Pray  write  to  me 
immediately.”  And  her  father  answered  like  the 
dutiful  “ cher  petit  pere  ” that  he  was,  “ Indeed, 
indeed,  my  dear  little  Theodosia,  I Avill  write  to 
you  Amry  soon.  Don’t  scold  and  pout  so.” 

But  although  Theodosia  and  her  fatlier,  too, 
might  “ scold  and  pout,”  it  Avas  only  in  the  Avay  of 
fondness  and  their  letters  to  eacli  Avere,  for  the 
most,  written  in  a highly  complimentary  vein.  The- 
odosia always  knew  where  to  turn  Avhen  in  need  of 
some  sincere  flattery.  From  Ballston,  N.Y.,  Avhere 
she  was  spending  a feAV  midsummer  Aveeks,  she  Avrote 
to  her  “ cher  pire^'"  — “ In  the  eAmning  Ave  Avent  to  a 
ball.  I danced  tAvice,  but  am  unable  to  tell  Avhether 
I looked  Avell  or  danced  Avell ; for  you  are  the  only 
person  in  the  world  who  says  anything  to  me  about 
my  appearance.  Mari  generally  looks  pleased,  but 
rarely  makes  remarks.  On  my  return,  therefore,  I 
Avished  for  you  to  learn  some  account  of  myself  ; for 


116 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


vanity  and  diffidence  had  a combat  in  which  each 
so  well  maintained  its  ground  that  the  affair  is  still 
left  undecided.”  “ Lord,  how  I should  have  liked 
to  see  you  dance,”  re^ffied  her  father  with  becoming 
gallantry.  It  is  so  long ; how  long  is  it  ? It  is 
certain  that  you  danced  better  than  anybody  and 
looked  better.”  A great  deal  of  sincere  flattery, 
too,  came  without  the  asking.  Thus  Burr  wrote 
to  his  daughter  comparing  her  to  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  women  of  the  day.  “ Madame  Bonaparte 
passed  a week  here,”  he  said.  “ She  is  a charming 
little  woman*;  just  the  size  and  nearly  the  figure  of 
Theodosia  Burr  Alston,  by  some  thought  a little 
like  her ; perhaps  not  so  well  in  the  shoulders ; 
dresses  with  taste  and  simplicity ; has  sense,  spirit, 
and  sprightliness.” 

In  the  compliments  as  in  the  scoldings  we  read 
Burr’s  love  for  his  daughter.  Another  proof  of  his 
affection  for  her  was  his  constant  sohcitude  about 
her  health.  “Are  you  a good  girl  ? ” he  would  in- 
quire of  her.  “ Do  you  drink  the  waters  and  bathe 
and  ride  and  walk  ? ” ’“  He  was  anxious  to  hear  that 
she  took  sufficient  exercise.  He  desired  that  she 
should  walk,  no  matter  what  the  weather,  and  de- 
scribed just  the  sort  of  overshoes  she  should  wear 
for  precautiorr  hr  the  stormy  seasons. 

His  concern  for  her  was  rrot  founded  on  imagin- 
ary evils.  For  a while  Theodosia  was  in  very  deli- 
cate health.  She  herself,  of  course,  made  light  of 
her  illness.  She  referred  to  it  with  her  usual  ban- 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


117 


ter.  “ Ever  since  the  date  of  my  last  letter,”  she 
told  her  father,  “ I have  been  quite  ill.  The  whole 
family,  as  well  as  myself,  had  begun  to  think  pretty 
seriously  of  my  last  journey ; but,  fortunately,  I 
have  had  the  pleasure  of  keeping  them  up  a few 
nights,  and  drawing  forth  all  their  sensibility, 
without  giving  them  the  trouble  of  burying,  mourn- 
ing, etc.”  She  did  all  in  her  power  to  hurry  along 
her  own  recovery.  “ I exert  myself  to  the  utmost,” 
she  wrote,  “ feeling  none  of  that  pride  so  common 
to  my  sex  of  being  weak  and  ill.  I encourage 
spirits  and  try  to  affear  well.”  Beiiig  busy,  she 
found,  was  an  excellent  remedy.  “ My  health  is 
mueh  improved,”  she  reported,  “ and  I attribute  it 
to  nothing  but  the  continual  bustle  I have  been 
kept  in  for  three  weeks  past.  What  a charming 
thing  a bustle  is  ! Oh,  dear,  delightful  confusion  ! 
It  gives  a circulation  to  the  blood,  an  activity  to 
the  mind,  and  a spring  to  the  spirits.” 

During  her  invalidism  Theodosia,  taking  the 
little  boy  with  her,  w^ent  to  stay  for  a while  with 
her  father  in  New  York.  Business  kept  her  hus- 
band in  the  South  and  so,  for  the  first  time  since  their 
marriage,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Alston  were  parted.  A few 
of  Theodosia’s  letters,  written  to  her  husband  in 
this  period  of  separation,  have  come  down  to  us 
and  show  her  to  have  been  a most  devoted  little 
wife.  With  truly  feminine  forethought,  she  de- 
spatched to  him  a box  of  cigars  (of  the  choicest 
New  York  brand)  with  the  instructions  that  her 


118 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


“ great  Apollo,  ” as  she  was  pleased  to  hail  her 
husband,  was  to  smoke  these  cigars  Avhenever  he 
went  into  the  city  that  he  might  thereby  “ create 
an  atmosphere  ” to  scare  away  all  germs.  She  told 
him  she  was  glad  to  hear  he  had  chosen  chess  for 
his  amusement  in  her  absence.  “ It  keeps  you  in 
mind,”  she  remarked  naively,  “ how  poor  kings  fare 
without  their  queens.”  She  confessed  that  every 
woman,  herself  included,  must  prefer  the  society 
of  the  North  to  that  of  the  South,  but  she  added 
reassuringly,  “ Where  you  are,  there  is  my  coun- 
try.” 

From  all  of  which  it  maybe  seen  that  Theodosia 
was  very  much  in  love  with  her  husband.  But  if 
we  may  judge  from  an  occasional  hint  that  she 
dropped  in  her  letters  to  her  father,  she  was  not  m 
love  with  all  her  husband's  relatives.  “ We  travel 
in  company  wdth  the  two  Alstons  Qe  fh'e  and 
frere')”  she  wrote.  “ Pray  teach  me  how  to  write 
two  A’s  without  producing  somethmg  like  an  Ass.” 
The  quotation,  however  saucy,  should  be  forgiven, 
since  the  fact  that  Theodosia  was  not  always  pleased 
with  her  “ thhrgs-in-law  ” makes  her  seem  all  the 
more  real  to  us  of  this  later  day. 

Theodosia’s  letters  to  her  husband  and  to  her 
father  alike  are  full  of  references  to  her  son.  “ He 
is  a sweet  little  rascal,”  she  told  her  husband ; and 
to  her  father  she  said,  “ He  remembers  5'ou  aston- 
ishingly. He  is  constantly  repeating  that  j^ou  are 
gone,  and  calling  after  you.  W4ien  I told  him  to 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


119 


call  Mr.  Alston  grandfather  — ‘ Grandfather  gone,’ 
says  he.”  ^ 

Of  course  “ grandfather  ” on  his  part  had  much 
to  say  about  the  boy.  “ There  is  a little  hoy  oppo- 
site my  window,”  he  wrote  to  Theodosia,  “ who  has 
something  of  the  way  of  ‘ Mammy’s  treasure.’ 
Don’t  be  jealous ; not  half  so  handsome.”  He 
never  wearied  of  hearing  “ Mammy  ” talk  of  lier 
“ treasure.”  As  mucli  as  she  told  Iriin  he  declared 
it  was  “ never  enorrgh.”  He  was  especially  inter- 
ested in  the  development  of  the  little  fellow’s  ehar- 
acter,  and  thus,  in  his  own  pleasant  fashion,  he 
commented  upon  it : “I  like  much  his  heroism 
and  his  gallantry.  You  cannot  think  how  much 
these  details  amuse  me ; ” and  again : “ All  you 
write  of  the  boy  represents  him  such  as  I would 
have  him  and  his  refusal  of  the  peaches  reminded 
me  of  his  mother.  Just  so  she  has  done  fifty  times, 
and  just  so  I kissed  her.” 

Burr  was  very  much  interested  in  the  hoy’s  edu- 
cation. He  began  discussing  it  with  Theodosia 
while  the  child  was  still  in  his  babyhood.  “ I hope 
you  talk  to  him  much  in  French,”  he  wrote  her; 
and  again  ; “ If  you  had  one  particle  of  invention  or 
genius  you  would  have  taught  A.  B.  A.  his  a b c’s 
before  this.  I am  sure  he  may  now  be  taught 
them  and  then  put  a pen  in  his  hand  and  set  him 
to  imitate  them.  He  may  read  and  write  before  he 
is  three  years  old.  This,  with  speaking  French, 
would  make  hii»  a tolerably  accomplished  lad  of 


120 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


that  age  and  worthy  of  his  blood.”  He  was  de- 
lighted with  his  grandson’s  first  letter  to  him.- 
“ The  letter  of  A.  B.  A.  at  the  foot  of  yours,”  he 
wrote  his  daughter,  “ was  far  the  most  interesting. 
I have  studied  every  pot  hook  and  trammel  of  his 
fiist  literary  performance  to  see  what  rays  of  genius 
could  be  discovered.” 

And  while  Burr  was  busying  himself  with  edu- 
cational plans  for  the  boy,  he  did  not  forget  the 
mother.  He  continued  in  the  character  of  Theo- 
dosia’s critic  and  instructor,  urging  her  to  improve 
her  mind  for  her  son’s  sahe  and  for  her  own  as 
well.  “ Pray  take  in  hand  some  book  which  re- 
quires attention  and  study,”  he  told  her.  “You 
will,  I fear,  lose  the  habit  of  study,  which  would  be 
a greater  misfortune  than  to  lose  your  head.”  He 
advised  her  to  read  the  newspapers,  “ not  to  become 
a partisan  in  politics,  God  forbid,”  but  because  they 
“ contain  the  occurrences  of  the  day  and  furnish 
standing  topics  for  conversation.”  “ Pray,  madam,” 
he  asked,  “ do  you  know  of  what  consist  the  ‘ Repub- 
lic of  the  Seven  Islands  ’ ? Do  you  Imow  the  present 
boundaries  of  the  French  republic  ? Xeither,  in  all 
probability.  Then  hunt  them.”  Philosophy  he 
recommended  to  her  as  an  especially  alluring  study. 
“ Darwin  and  Harris  you  have,”  he  said,  “ others  I 
Avill  send.”  He  told  her  to  read  over  her  Shake- 
speare, “ critically,  marking  the  passages  which  are 
beautiful,  absurd,  or  obscure.  I will  do  the  same,” 
he  promised,  “ and  one  of  these  days  we  will  com- 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


121 


pare.”  But  above  all  things  she  was  exhorted  to 
improve  her  “ style  and  language.”  “ In  this,”  her 
father  assured  her,  “ you  will  be  aided  by  regaining 
your  Latin.” 

Thus,  we  see,  Theodosia  and  all  that  pertained 
to  Theodosia  was  as  dear  to  Burr  in  the  period  of 
her  wifehood  and  motherhood  as  in  those  earlier 
days  when  she  was  only  his  little  daughter,  his 
pupil,  playfellow,  and  comrade,  the  mistress  of  his 
home.  Though  she  had  gone  from  him,  she  still 
lived  with  him  in  his  thoughts.  Her  twenty-first 
birthday  he  celebrated  at  Richmond  Hill  just  as  he 
would  have  done  had  she  been  there.  “ W e kept 
Theo’s  birthday,”  be  told  her,  “ laughed  an  hour, 
danced  an  hour,  and  drank  her  health.  We  had 
your  picture  in  the  dining-room  but,  as  it  is  a pro- 
file and  would  not  look  at  us,  we  hung  it  up.” 

Yet  even  while  he  wrote  these  words  so  instinct 
Avith  his  fondness  for  her.  Burr  Avas  meditating  the 
deed  that  was  to  end  his  OAvn  happiness  and  hers. 
A very  little  later,  before  Theodosia  could  receive 
the  letter  telling  of  tlie  pleasure  her  birthday  had 
brought  him,  the  tragedy  of  WeehaAvken  had 
occurred. 

On  tlie  night  before  the  duel  Burr  sat  at  his  desk 
until  late  into  the  night,  Avriting.  His  last  thoughts 
before  going  to  the  field  were  of  Theodosia.  To 
her  husband  he  said : “ If  it  should  be  my  lot  to 
fall  yet  I shall  live  in  you  and  your  son.  I commit 
to  you  all  that  is  most  dear  to  me,  my  reputation 


122 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


and  my  daughter ; ” and  to  Theodosia  herself  he 
said,  “ I am  indebted  to  you,  my  dearest  Theodosia, 
for  a very  great  portion  of  the  happiness  which  I 
have  enjoyed  in  this  life.  You  have  completely 
satisfied  all  that  my  heart  had  hoped.” 

Not  many  hours  later  the  world  was  mourning 
the  death  of  Alexander  Hamilton  and  Aaron  Burr 
was  a fugitive  from  justice,  with  an  indictment  for 
murder  hanging  over  him. 

News  of  the  duel  reached  Theodosia  in  her  far- 
away home.  Its  shadow  fell  on  her  with  awful 
blackness.  Her  days  of  gladness  were  over  and 
her  days  of  anxiety  and  sorrow  had  begun. 

With  her  gladness  she  had  lost,  too,  that  tone  of 
merry  banter  which  had  always  been  hers.  Life 
had  become  all  seriousness  with  her.  But  not  so 
with  Aaron  Burr.  In  the  fierce  storm  of  protest 
and  of  passion  that  raged  against  liim  he  remained 
calm  and  unconcerned.  He  could  even  joke  with 
Theodosia  over  the  measures  that  were  being  taken 
against  him.  He  told  her  that  the  States  of  New 
York  and  New  .lersey  were  engaged  in  a dispute 
as  to  which  should  have  the  honor  of  hanging  the 
Yice-President ; that  she  should  have  due  notice  as 
to  the  time  and  place  of  the  hanging;  and  that 
wherever  and  whenever  it  might  be,  she  “ might  rely 
on  a great  concourse  of  company,  much  gayety  and 
many  rare  sights,  such  as  the  lion,  the  elephant,  etc.” 
And  when  Theodosja  answered  his  fun  with  appre- 
hensions and  forebodings  he  rebuked  her.  “You 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


123 


treat  the  affair  with  too  much  gravity,”  he  said. 
“It  should  be  considered  as  a farce.” 

Theodosia  did  not  see  her  father  until  late  in  the 
fall.  He  came  to  her  black  with  his  many  miles  of 
travel  in  an  open  canoe.  Ruined  in  fortune  and 
repute,  he  was  as  welcome  as  ever  he  had  been  in 
the  days  of  his  prosperity.  His  disgrace  had 
saddened  Theodosia.  It  had  not  lessened  her  love 
for  him  nor  her  belief  in  him. 

Her  love  and  her  belief  were  yet  to  undergo 
further  trial.  The  duel  with  Hamilton  was  but 
the  beginning  of  Burr’s  downfall.  The  Mexican 
scheme  soon  followed.  In  it  Theodosia  and  her 
husband  became  involved.  When  Burr  was  to  be 
king  of  jMexico,  Theodosia  was  to  be  chief  lady  of 
the  court,  Joseph  Alston  chief  minister,  and  the 
little  Aaron  was  to  be  heir  presumptive  to  the 
throne.  But  while  tliey  talked  of  a visionary 
dynasty,  the  President  issued  his  proclamation  and 
Burr  was  summoned  to  appear  before  the  tribunal 
at  Richmond  to  answer  to  the  charge  of  high 
treason. 

Theodosia  was  ignorant  of  any  treasonous  de- 
signs which  her  father  may  have  entertained 
against  the  government.  The  news  of  his  arrest 
came  upon  her  unexpectedly,  overwhelmingly. 
Her  state  of  mind  at  the  time  is  best  understood 
by  the  words  her  father  wrote  to  her  in  her  first 
anguish,  to  recall  her  to  herself.  It  was  the  stoic 
who  addressed  her.  “ Your  letters  of  the  10th 


124 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


and  those  preceding,”  he  said,  “ seem  to  indicate  a 
sort  of  stupor ; but  now  you  rise  mto  frenzy. 
Another  ten  days  will,  it  is  hoped,  have  brought 
you  hack  to  reason.”  He  charged  her  with  having 
read  her  history  to  very  little  purpose  if  she  had 
not  noted  that  in  all  democratic  governments  men 
of  virtue,  independence,  and  talent  have  been  vin- 
dictively persecuted ; and  he  playfully  requested 
her  to  write  an  essay  on  the  subject.  Thus  with 
brave  and  even  merry  words  he  souglit  to  comfort 
her.  And  as  the  time  for  his  trial  approached,  he 
prepared  her  for  it  in  his  oAvn  calm,  confident  fash- 
ion. “ I cannot  he  humiliated  or  disgraced,”  he 
assured  hei'.  “ If  absent  you  will  suffer  great 
solicitude.  In  my  presence  you  will  feel  none. 
Remember,”  he  continued,  “ no  agitation,  no  com- 
plaints, no  fears  or  anxieties.  I beg  and  expect  it 
of  you  that  you  will  conduct  yourself  as  becomes 
my  daughter  and  that  you  manifest  no  signs  of 
weakness  or  alarm.” 

It  was  an  impressive  court,  that  before  which 
Aaron  Burr  stood  arraigned  as  traitor.  There  was 
John  Marshall,  the  greatest  of  our  chief  justices, 
and  John  Randolpli,  foreman  of  the  jury,  and  the 
burly  Luther  Martin,  the  counsel  for  the  defence. 
And  among  the  onlookers  were  such  men  as 
Washington  Irving  and  Andrew  Jackson  — Wash- 
ington Irving,  then  a young  barrister  who  had 
come  from  New  York  to  report  the  case  for  his 
brother’s  newspapers,  and  Andrew  Jackson  as 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


125 


peppery  as  ever  and  declaring  loudly  against  the 
tyranny  of  the  administration. 

Burr  himself  conducted  his  defence.  He  spoke 
with  a woman’s  tact  and  a man’s  adroit  reasoning. 
His  powerful  black  eyes  met  the  powerful  black 
eyes  of  the  chief  justice  without  flinching.  His 
bearing,  his  manner,  his  voice,  his  personality,  in- 
spired confldence.  It  was  the  wonderful  magnetism 
of  the  man  that  prejudiced  so  many  in  his  favor. 

Throughout  the  trial  Theodosia  was  at  Rich- 
mond. Her  presence  there  was  a great  help  to 
Burr’s  cause.  She  was  universally  admired  for 
her  beauty,  her  ability,  and  her  blind  faith  in  her 
father.  Many  believed  in  Aaron  Burr  because  she 
believed  in  him.  She  appealed  to  the  young,  im- 
aginative soul  of  Washington  Irving.  Irving’s 
letters  show  that  liis  sympathies  were  entirely  with 
her  and  her  father.  Luther  Martin  is  reported  to 
have  worshipped  her.  “ I find,”  wrote  Blenuerhas- 
set,  “ that  Luther  Martin’s  idolatrous  admiration 
of  Mrs.  Alston  is  almost  as  excessive  as  my  own 
but  far  more  beneficial  to  his  interests  and  injur- 
ious to  his  judgment,  as  it  is  the  medium  of  his 
blind  attachment  to  her  father.” 

Burr  was  acquitted  but  popular  feeling  was  so 
strong  against  him  that  he  was  forced  to  leave 
America.  In  the  spring  of  1808,  the  year  after 
his  trial,  he  sailed  from  New  York.  Theodosia, 
sick  and  sorrowful,  but  as  true  as  ever,  left  her 
Carolina  home  and  journeyed  North  to  see  him 


126 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


once  moi’e  before  he  went  and  to  bid  him  good-by. 
The  night  before  his  departure  she  spent  with  him 
at  the  house  of  a loyal  friend.  Father  and  daughter 
were  both  brave.  Burr  was  confident,  even  gay. 
Yet,  in  spite  of  their  enforced  spirits,  their  meeting 
with  its  whispered  words  and  grave  injunctions  was 
very  like  the  meeting  of  two  conspirators.  Before 
morning  he  parted  from  her  and  stole  away  in  the 
ship  that  was  carrying  him  from  all  that  he  held 
most  dear.  That  night,  the  7th  of  June,  1808,  was 
the  last  time  he  ever  saw  Theodosia. 

The  years  of  Burr’s  exile  were  sad  years  for 
Theodosia.  She  heard  of  her  father’s  wandering 
in  foreign  lands,  a man  without  a country,  inhos- 
pitably treated,  reduced  to  a diet  of  potatoes  and 
dry  bread.  She  realized  with  keen  distress  the 
bitterness  of  his  position.  Indeed,  she  herself  was 
made  to  feel  some  of  the  odium  that  was  directed 
against  him.  “ The  world,”  she  wrote,  “ begins  to 
cool  terribly  around  me.  You  will  be  surprised  how 
many  I supposed  attached  to  me  have  abandoned 
the  sorry,  losing  game  of  disinterested  friendship.” 

Sire  longed  earnestly  for  his  return.  She 
pleaded  with  those  in  authority  eloquently  and 
pathetically  that  her  father  might  be  allowed  to 
come  back  to  America  and  live  in  safety  and  to 
Burr  himself  she  VTote  urging  his  return.  Her 
loyalty  and  devotion  were  limitless.  “ If  the  worst 
comes  to  the  worst,”  she  told  him,  “I  will  leave 
everything  to  suffer  with  you.” 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


127 


At  length,  after  four  years  of  exile,  Burr  re- 
turned. The  first  sight  of  his  home  land  filled  him 
with  sadness.  There  is  something  very  affecting 
in  the  brief  entry  which  he  made  in  his  diary  when 
on  shipboard,  just  before  landing.  “ A pilot  is  in 
sight  and  within  two  miles  of  us,”  he  wrote.  “ All 
is  hustle  and  joy  except  ‘ Gamp  ’ ” — the  name 
by  which  his  little  grandson  called  him.  “ Why 
should  he  rejoice?” 

Burr  had  come  back  only  to  be  met  with  a fresh 
sorrow.  Shortly  after  his  arrival  in  New  York  a 
letter  came  from  Carolina  bring'ing'  news  of  the 
death  of  the  boy  who  was  so  dear  to  him.  It  was 
the  boy’s  father  who  wrote.  “ I will  not  conceal 
from  you,”  said  Alston,  “ that  life  is  a burden 
which,  heavy  as  it  is,  we  shall  support,  if  not  with 
dignity,  at  least  with  decency  and  firmness.  Theo- 
dosia has  endured  all  that  a human  being  could 
endure,  but  her  admirable  mind  will  triumph.” 

In  her  grief  Theodosia  longed  more  ardently 
than  ever  to  see  her  father.  It  was  the  year  1812 
and  the  war  with  England  had  begun.  Alston 
could  not  leave  Carolina,  since  his  duties  as  gov- 
ernor and  brigadier-general  required  his  presence 
there.  It  was  his  wish,  however,  that  Theodosia 
should  join  her  father.  “ I would  part  with  Theo- 
dosia reluctantly,”  he  wrote  to  Burr,  “ but  I rec- 
ognize your  claim  to  her  after  such  a separation, 
and  change  of  scene  and  your  society  will  aid  her, 
I am  conscious,  in  recovering  at  least  that  tone  of 


128 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


mind  which  we  are  destined  to  carry  through  life 
with  us.” 

Burr,  of  course,  was  delighted  at  the  pros- 
pect of  a visit  from  Theodosia.  He  sent  his  old 
comrade,  Timothy  Green,  to  escort  her  North. 
Theodosia  was  in  such  poor  health  it  was  not 
thought  safe  for  her  to  take  the  journey  alone. 
Her  son’s  death  had  worn  terribly  upon  her. 
Timothy  Green  wrote  to  Burr,  “ You  must  not 
be  surprised  to  see  her  ” (Theodosia)  “ very  low, 
feeble,  and  emaciated.  Her  complaint  is  an  almost 
incessant  nervous  fever.” 

Under  the  care  of  her  father’s  trusted  friend, 
then,  Theodosia  embarked  from  Charleston.  She 
boarded  the  “ Pilot ’’"about  noon  on  Thursday,  the 
last  day  of  the  year  1812.  Her  husband  accom- 
panied her  to  the  boat.  He  parted  from  her,  to 
quote  his  own  words,  “ near  the  bar,”  and  stood 
waving  a farewell  to  her  from  the  shore,  as  she 
sailed  away.  It  was  his  last  sight  of  Theodosia. 

On  the  day  following.  New  Year’s  day  of  the 
year  1813,  a violent  storm  raged  along  the  Atlantic 
coast.  No  ship  could  live  in  such  a tempest,  and 
the  “ Pilot,”  with  all  on  board,  went  down  off 
Cape  Hatteras.  Father  and  husband  waited  in  ag- 
onized expectancy.  Burr  could  only  hope  that 
Theodosia  had  not  sailed  and  Alston  that  she  had 
delayed  in  announcing  her  arrival.  At  length 
came  the  dreaded  assurance  of  her  tragic  fate. 

Alston  died  soon  after.  The  motive  power  was 


THEODOSIA  BURR. 


129 


gone  from  his  life.  He  was  a broken-hearted  man, 
very  different  from  the  ardent,  impetuous  young 
lover  of  Theodosia’s  girlhood  days.  He  wrote 
pathetically  to  her  father,  “ My  boy,  my  wife,  both 
gone.  This,  then,  is  the  end  of  all  the  hopes  we  had 
formed.  You  may  well  observe  that  you  feel  sev- 
ered from  the  human  race.  She  was  the  last  tie 
that  bound  us  to  the  species.  What  have  we  left  ? 
Yet,  after  all,  he  is  a poor  actor  who  cannot  sustain 
his  hour  upon  the  stage,  be  his  part  what  it  may. 
But  the  man  who  has  been  deemed  worthy  of  the 
heart  of  Theodosia  Burr  and  who  has  felt  what  it 
is  to  be  blest  with  such  a woman’s  love,  will  never 
forget  his  elevation.” 

Thus  Burr  was  left  alone.  He  did  not  com- 
plain. He  was  silent  over  his  great  sorrow.  But 
there  were  those  who  remembered  him  in  his  last 
days,  a solitary  old  man,  walking  along  the  Bat- 
tery and  looking  wistfully  towards  the  horizon  for 
ships.  That  wistful  gaze . was  a habit  acquired  in 
his  hours  of  torturing  suspense,  while  waiting  for 
the  ship  that  never  came. 


IV. 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON, 

WIFE  OF  PRINCE  JEROME  BONAPARTE. 


Born  in  Baltimore  in  1785. 

Died  in  Baltimore,  April,  1879. 


“There  was  about  her  the  brilliancy  of  courts  and  palaces, 
the  enchantment  of  a love  story,  the  suffering  of  a victim  of 
despotic  power.”  — Eugene  L.  Didier. 

There  was  once  a real  Beatrice  Esmond.  She 
was  a living,  enrapturing,  American  Beatrice  Es- 
mond, just  as  beautiful,  witty,  ambitious,  and  wil- 
ful as  the  one  that  Thackeray  painted.  She  charmed 
Avith  her  eyes  and  slew  with  her  tongue ; so  the 
admiring  world  declared.  And  she  had  a story,  a 
sad,  romantic  story,  that  has  become  a part  of 
history. 

When  this  Beatrice  Esmond  came  into  existence 
the  stai-s,  no  doubt,  performed  great  feats  — the 
stais  that  mean  princes,  and  popes,  and  emperors. 
But  what  the  stars  did  we  never  shall  know.  Her 
horoscope  never  was  taken.  She  Avas  born  into  a 
quite  commonplace  and  Avell-behaA^ed  American 
family,  the  Pattersons  of  Baltimore,  and  it  was 
supposed  that  she  hex-self  Avould  be  like  the  rest  of 

130 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


131 


the  family,  quite  commonplace  and  well-behaved. 
However,  the  stars  or  the  fates  or  some  sort  of 
powers  ordained  it  otherwise,  and  this  Beatrice 
developed  a most  remarkable  and  troublesome  per- 
sonality. 

There  is  an  ancient  tradition  by  which  we  read 
that  in  all  large  flocks  there  must  be  one  black 
sheep.  We  might  say  that  the  Patterson  flock, 
which  was  large,  was  not  without  its  one  of  ques- 
tionable hue.  And  yet  one  hesitates  to  apply  so 
ugly  a term  as  black  sheep  to  so  exquisite  a creat- 
ure as  Elizabeth  Patterson.  Small,  dainty,  and 
perfectly  formed,  with  a crown  of  waving  brown 
hair,  hazel  eyes  of  wonderful  tenderness,  features 
of  delicate  Grecian  outline,  she  looked  not  at  all 
like  a black  sheep  and  very  like  an  angel.  And 
an  angel  she  certainly  appeared  to  her  little  court 
of  Baltimore  adorers. 

But  her  Baltimore  adorers  were  yet  to  learn  that 
eyes  may  assume  a tenderness  and  have  it  not,  and 
that  human  angels,  angels  without  wings,  are 
very  often  without  hearts  as  well.  The  unfortu- 
nate gentlemen  might  entreat  and  implore  ; Miss 
Elizabeth  was  deaf  to  them  all.  She  went  on  her 
way  smiling  and  with  her  head  held  higli.  No  one 
in  Badtimore,  she  decided,  was  grand  enough  for 
her.  She  dreamed  of  a greater  matrimonial  glory 
than  any  her  own  land  could  offer.  The  title- 
seeking  American  girl  is  not  a creature  of  wholly 
modern  invention. 


132 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


Thus,  in  this  haughty  frame  of  mind,  Miss  Pat- 
terson arrived  at  her  eighteenth  birthday.  Her 
friends  were  beginning  to  look  grave,  and  to  won- 
der where  her  pride  would  carry  her. 

It  was  at  this  point  that,  far  away  in  Martinique, 
her  name  first  reached  the  ears  of  a handsome 
young  fellow,  a Coi’sican,  brother  to  that  Little 
Corporal  who  was  playing  his  mighty  game  of 
chance  with  the  powers  of  Europe.  The  young 
man,  conscious  of  the  splendor  which,  from  his 
illustrious  brother,  shone  reflected  on  himself,  was 
remarking  somewhat  gloomily,  as  if  the  weight  of 
his  great  name  were  heavy  upon  him,  “ Ah,  I shall 
be  forced  to  make  a marriaqe  of  convenience.”  A 
lady  chanced  to  hear  him,  a Baltimore  lady,  proud 
of  the  beauty  of  her  own  country-women.  Turn- 
ing to  him,  she  responded  gayly,  “ Oh,  no,  I know 
the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world  whom  you 
must  marry  — • Miss  Elizabeth  Patterson,  of  Balti- 
more.” Thus  Jerome  Bonaparte  first  heard  of 
Elizabeth  Patterson. 

Shortly  after,  in  the  autumn  of  1803,  Jerome 
Bonaparte,  in  command  of  a French  fleet,  sailed 
to  America.  America  was  proud  to  welcome  the 
brother  of  the  First  Consul,  and  the  handsome 
young  fellow  was  feted  everywhere. 

At  length  he  found  his  way  to  Baltimore  and 
there,  as  elsewhere,  he  was  royally  entertained. 
During  his  stay  in  the  city,  one  of  his  suite.  Mon- 
sieur Rubelle,  fell  in  love  with  a Baltimore  girl  and 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


133 


married  her.  To  Madame  Rubelle  one  day,  in  the 
spirit  of  raillery,  Jerome  addressed  himself.  “ I 
shall  never  marry  an  American  young  lady,”  he 
declared  saucily.  Madame  Rubelle  held  up  a 
warning  finger.  “ Do  not  be  so  sure,”  she  retorted, 
“ Miss  Patterson  is  so  beautiful  that  to  see  her  is  to 
wed  her.” 

Naturally  Jerome  felt  some  curiosity  to  behold 
the  famous  American  beauty  who  was,  so  it  ap- 
peared, designed  for  him.  He  referred  to  her 
laughingly  as  his  “ belle  femme.”  But  there  came 
a day,  the  day  that  he  first  saw  her,  when  his 
laughter  changed  to  seriousness. 

It  was  at  the  fall  races.  All  Baltimore  was 
turning  out.  Jerome  was  there,  chatting  with 
Madame  Rubelle.  “ Where  is  my  beautiful  wife  ? ” 
he  inquired  of  her  merrily ; “ shall  I not  see  her 
here  to-day?”  And  then  Madame  Rubelle  directed 
the  young  man’s  gaze  to  a charming  girl  in  a simple 
gown  of  buff-colored  silk  and  a big  hat  with  long 
ostrich  feathers.  “ Thfere  is  Miss  Patterson,”  she 
declared.  Jerome  looked  as  directed;  he  looked 
long  and  earnestly.  Never  before,  it  seemed  to 
him,  had  he  beheld  such  beauty,  such  brilliancy, 
such  hauteur,  and  such  spirit.  No  one  among  the 
European  princesses  proposed  for  him  in  marriage 
was  more  a princess  than  this  untitled  American 
girl,  he  determined.  She,  not  those  others,  were 
born  to  wear  the  crown  and  the  insignia  of  royalty. 
And  when  at  last  he  looked  away,  it  was  with  the 


134 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


unspoken  vow  that  he  would  make  Elizabeth  Pat- 
terson his  “ belle  femme  ” in  very  earnest. 

A few  days  later,  at  a ball  in  the  house  of 
Samuel  Chase,  a signer  of  the  Declaration,  Jerome 
Bonaparte  and  Elizabeth  Patterson  met  for  the 
first  time.  We  may  imagine  the  meeting,  his  im- 
petuous, boyish  ardor  and  the  graceful  blending  of 
pride  and  humility  with  which  she  received  it.  It 
was  a supreme  moment  for  Elizabeth  Patterson. 
As  she  danced  with  her  distinguished  suitor  and 
leaned  upon  his  arm  and  listened  to  his  princely 
love-making,  she  had  visions,  no  doubt,  of  foreign 
lands  and  brilliant  courts  and  palaces  where  she 
might  reign.  The  matrimonial  glory  of  which  she 
had  dreamed  seemed  about  to  fall  upon  her. 

Miss  Elizabeth  and  her  illustrious  lover  moved 
in  an  enchanted  world  that  evening.  Each  moment 
found  them  more  and  more  in  love,  he  with  her  wit 
and  beauty,  she  Avith  his  high  rank.  Once  when 
they  were  dancing  together  his  chain  became  en- 
tangled in  her  long  hair.  They  looked  into  each 
other’s  eyes  and  smiled.  This,  they  decided,  was 
prophetic  of  their  destiny ; they  had  been  joined  to- 
gether and  now  nothing  could  part  them. 

They  were  little  more  than  boy  and  girl,  these 
lovers ; sh§  just  eighteen  and  he  only  a few 
months  her  senior.  In  their  extreme  youth  he 
could  forget  his  duty  as  the  brother  of  Xapoleon, 
and  she  be  careless  of  the  disappointments  and 
dangers  that  must  inevitably  follow  from  an  al- 
liance with  a Bonaparte. 


MISS  ELIZABETH  AND  HER  ILLUSTRIOUS  LOVER  MOVED  IN  AN  ENCHANTED 
WORLD  THAT  EVENING. 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


135 


There  were  others,  however,  older  and  wiser  who 
could  not  be  careless  and  forget.  Elizabeth’s 
father,  William  Patterson,  a shrewd,  discerning 
man,  whose  cleverness  had  made  him  one  of  the 
wealthiest  persons  in  America,  realized  fully  the 
risk  his  daughter  would  run  in  marrying  a French- 
man, under  the  legal  age,  without  the  consent  of 
his  guardians.  He  refused  to  hear  of  an  engage- 
ment and  when  Elizabeth  proved  recalcitrant,  he 
sent  her  off  to  Virginia. 

But  that  wilful  young  woman  was  not  to  be 
prevented  in  her  aspirings  after  matrimonial  glory. 
From  her  place  of  seclusion  in  Virginia,  she  eor- 
responded  with  Jerome,  and  finally,  despite  her 
father’s  orders  and  the  warnings  of  her  friends,  she 
eontrived  to  make  her'  escape  to  Baltimore  and  into 
the  arms  of  her  lover.  Hers  was  an  indomitable 
nature  that  did  not  stop  at  trifles. 

Her  father,  finding  his  commands  of  no  avail, 
sought  to  frighten  Elizabeth  out  of  her  mad  pro- 
ject. He  told  her  what  others  had  told  him,  that 
Captain  Bonaparte  only  wanted  to  make  a home 
for  himself  until  he  returned  to  Franee,  “ when  he 
would  be  the  first  to  turn  her  off  and  laugh  at  her 
credulity.”  To  this,  as  to  all  other  like  predictions 
and  admonishings,  Elizabeth  had  but  one  reply. 
With  a flash  of  defiance  she  would  retort  proudly, 
“ I would  rather  be  the  wife  of  Jerome  Bonaparte 
for  one  hour  than  of  any  other  man  for  life.” 

At  length,  observing  that  nothing  would  shake 


136 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


Elizabeth’s  determination  to  marry  the  Frenchman, 
Mr.  Patterson  gave  a reluctant  consent  to  the 
match.  However,  he  insisted  that  the  young 
people  should  wait  until  December  to  be  married. 
Then  Jerome  was  to  attain  the  dignity  of  a nine- 
teenth birthday.  To  this  the  lovers  agreed,  and 
on  Christmas  eve  of  the  year  1803  the  Avedding 
took  place.  The  ceremony  was  performed  “ with 
great  pomp,”  so  we  are  told,  by  the  Most  ReAmrend 
John  Carroll,  Archbishop  of  Baltimore.  Jerome 
had  imported  a “ superb  ” trousseau  for  the  bride, 
but  Elizabeth  chose  to  be  married  in  a sinijple  Avhite 
muslin,  cut  Ioav.  A roAv  of  pearls  about  her  throat 
Avas  the  only  ornament.  Of  her  AA^edding  dress  she 
said,  “ It  Avas  a goAvn  I had  frequently  AAmrn,  for  I 
particularly  Avished  to  aAmid  Auilgar  display.”  In 
this  Ave  see  an  evidence  of  that  perfect  good  taste 
Avhich  was  hers  through  life. 

Mr.  Patterson,  troubled  AAuth  graAm  doubts  and 
forebodings,  had  done  eveiything  in  his  poAver  to 
give  the  union  religious  and  legal  sanction.  The 
marriage  contract  had  been  draAvn  up  by  Alexander 
Dallas,  aftei’AAnrds  Secretary  of  the  United  States 
Treasury.  Such  dignitaries  as  the  Vice-Consul  of 
France  and  the  l\Iayor  of  Baltimore  bad  been  in- 
vited to  Avitness  the  ceremony ; and,  in  order  to 
impress  the  formidable  Napoleon  Avith  the  A'alidity 
of  his  brother’s  marriage  and  the  respectability  of 
the  bride’s  family,  letters  from  Thomas  Jeffemon, 
President  of  the  United  States,  and  from  the  Sec- 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


137 


retary  of  State,  were  addressed  to  him.  Moreover, 
the  Hon.  Robert  Livingston,  ambassador  to  France, 
was  entrusted  with  the  task  of  presenting  the  affair 
in  its  most  favorable  light ; and  Robert  Patterson, 
brother  to  that  fair  Elizabeth  who  was  occasioning 
all  this  trouble,  was  despatched  to  France  to  advo- 
cate his  sister’s  cause. 

While  the  older,  wiser  heads  were  thus  acting, 
considerately  and  gravely,  in  their  behalf,  the  girl 
and  hoy  bride  and  bridegroom  were  enjoying  them- 
selves, careless  of  everything  but  their  own  happi- 
ness. Their  honeymoon  days  were  passed  at  Mr. 
Patterson’s  country  residence,  the  Homestead,  just 
beyond  Baltimore.  Late  in  January  they  returned 
to  the  world  and  took  their  part  in  the  winter 
merry-making. 

One  day  they  were  sleighing  upon  Market  street, 
a part  of  a gay  cavalcade  that  had  turned  out  to 
enjoy  the  frosty  air  and  winter  sunshine.  A snow- 
ball, aimed  by  a street  urchin  with  a democratic 
disregard  of  persons,  struck  Elizabeth.  Jerome 
was  outraged  at  what  he  deemed  an  indignity  to 
his  adored  “ Elise.”  He  vowed  that  he  would  give 
the  reward  of  five  hundred  dollai’s  to  any  one  who 
would  discover  the  culprit.  This  display  of  boyish 
anger  and  devotion,  when  viewed  in  the  light  of 
what  came  after,  loses  all  force  and  meaning.  Over 
a trifling  little  snowball  Jerome  could  work  him- 
self into  a passion,  but  when  the  real  blow  came, 
the  blow  that  struck  the  very  soul  of  his  young 


L38 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


wife,  he  could  remain  passive,  obedient  to  the  will 
of  him  who  aimed  it. 

In  February  the  bride  and  groom  journeyed  to 
Washington.  They  did  not  travel  as  so  many  brides 
and  grooms  have  travelled  since,  over  the  same 
route.  In  the  early  dawn  of  the  nineteenth  centur}^ 
which  saw  them  man  and  wife,  the  steam  car  wdth 
its  noise  and  hurry  and  flying  speed  had  not  yet 
arrived.  Then  “ the  glory  of  the  old  coach  roads  ” 
still  lingered,  a glory  that  came  from  the  waj-side 
inn  and  its  sliining  tankards,  from  the  faces  of 
2:)retty  barmaids  and  the  laughter  of  joking  hostlers, 
from  the  jolly  bugle  call  that  announced  the  coming 
of  the  mail,  and  from  the  rolling,  swinging  motion 
of  the  coach  itself,  which  bore  its  travellers  in 
slow,  old-fashioned  way,  past  meadow  land  and 
farm  land,  past  ancient  forests  and  young  towns. 
It  was  thus,  wdth  the  glory  of  the  old  coach  roads 
about  them,  tliat  Jerome  and  Elizabeth  Bonaparte 
journeyed  to  Washington. 

Upon  their  entrance  into  the  capital  they  met 
with  a mishap.  The  coach  horses  ran  away,  and 
the  driver  w^as  throwm  from  his  seat.  Jerome 
jumped  out  and  endeavored  to  stop  the  horses,  but 
they  dashed  on,  and  the  danger  to  Elizabeth,  all 
alone  in  the  coach,  increased  every  moment.  She, 
however,  was  not  in  the  least  afraid.  She  waited 
until  the  coach  neared  a snow-drift.  Then  she 
opened  the  door  and  jumped  out.  When  her 
anxious  bridegroom  rejoined  her,  she  greeted  liim 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


139 


laughing  and  unhurt,  only  a little  rosy  from  her 
tumble,  and  clothed  in  a soft  white  mantle  of  snow. 
Thus  peril  always  found  her  calm  and  self-reliant. 

Even  at  this  early  period,  during  their  honey- 
moon days,  Jerome  and  his  wife  turned  their 
thoughts  longingly  to  France.  It  was  their  hope 
that  Napoleon  would  approve  their  marriage,  and 
that  very  soon  they  miglit  be  permitted  to  make  their 
way  to  the  old  world  and  take  their  place  in  the  brill- 
iant life  which  they  felt  awaited  them  as  brother 
and  sister  of  the  man  who  Avas,  in  a few  months,  to 
declare  himself  Emperor  of  France.  They  rejoiced 
to  hear  of  the  cordial  reception  which  Elizabeth’s 
brother  Robert  received  from  Jerome’s  relatives. 
The  Bonapartes,  they  learned,  were  favorably  im- 
pressed with  young  Patterson,  his  handsome  ap- 
pearance, his  agreealJe  manners,  and  his  good 
sense.  Lucien,  who  acted  as  the  spokesman  of  the 
family,  told  Robert  that  he  himself,  his  mother, 
Madame  Mere,  and  all  his  hrotliers,  except  the 
great  formidable  one,  were  well  pleased  with  the 
marriage,  and  would  be  glad  to  Avelcome  Jerome’s 
wife  as  one  of  them. 

Napoleon  alone  remained  obdurate.  A grim  and 
foreboding  silence  encompassed  him.  It  was  not 
until  the  summer  that  his  will  was  made  known 
to  his  waiting  brother  and  sister.  Then  lie  spoke 
to  them  through  a decree  of  the  French  Senate. 
“ By  an  act  of  the  Eleventh  V entose,”  read  the 
decree,  “prohibition  is  made  to  all  the  civil  offi- 


140 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


cers  of  the  Empire  to  receive  on  their  registers 
the  transcription  of  the  act  of  celebration  of  a 
pretended  marriage  that  Jerome  Bonaparte  has 
contracted  in  a foreign  country  during  his  mi- 
nority, without  the  consent  of  his  mother,  and 
without  previous  publication  in  his  native  land.” 
And  in  accordance  with  this  decree  the  com- 
manders of  French  vessels  were  forbidden  to  receive 
on  board  their  ships  “ the  young  person  to  whom 
Jerome  had  attached  himself.”  At  the  same  time 
Jerome  received  a personal  message  from  Napoleon. 
The  First  Consul  remonstrated  with  his  offending 
brother  through  the  medium  of  his  Minister  of 
State.  “ Jerome  is  wrong,”  said  Napoleon,  “ to 
fancy  that  he  will  find  in  me  affections  that  Avill 
yield  to  his  Aveakness.  Sole  fabricator  of  my  des- 
tiny', I owe  nothing  to  my  hrothere.”  On  one  con- 
dition only  Avould  he  forgive  Jerome.  “I  aaIII 
receAe  Jerome,”  he  said,  “if  leaA'ing  in  America 
the  young  person  in  question,  he  shall  come  Ixither 
to  associate  himself  AAoth  my  fortunes.  Should  he 
bring  her  along  Avith  him,  she  shall  not  put  a foot 
on  the  territory  of  France.” 

Jerome  AA^as  inclined  to  tremble  a little  at  the 
imperial  Avrath.  But  his  spirited  AAufe  encouraged 
him.  Elizabeth  realized  fully  her  oaa'u  adA'antages. 
Even  Napoleon,  she  felt,  Avhen  once  he  saw  her, 
must  fall  under  the  spell  of  her  enchanting  beauty ; 
even  that  most  iiiAincible  of  AAills  must  yield  to  her 
eloquence  and  tears.  Jerome’s  courage  rcAuved 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


141 


somewhat  under  the  impetus  of  his  wife’s  daring 
and  of  his  own  belief  in  her  powers.  He  deter- 
mined to  embark  for  France  and  to  take  Elizabeth 
with  him. 

Accordingly  an  attempt  to  sail  was  made,  hut  it 
ended  only  in  shipwreck  off  the  coast  of  Delaware. 
Of  this  shipwreck  we  are  told  that  Madame  Bona- 
parte was  undismayed  in  the  time  of  peril.  Surely 
if  Madame  Bonaparte  had  no  heart  she  had  at  least 
a dauntless  courage.  She  was  the  first  to  jump  into 
the  life-boat.  She  and  those  with  her  were  rowed 
through  a dangerous  surf  and  finally  landed  in 
safety.  They  were  hospitably  received  at  a farm- 
house in  the  neighborhood,  where  the  young  “ Ma- 
dame ” hung  out  her  handsome  clothes  upon  the 
line  to  dry,  and  sat  down  in  borrowed,  rustic,  but 
becoming  garb  to  a hearty  meal.  She  laughed  and 
made  merry  and  forgot  to  thank  God.  Her  levity 
quite  scandalized  an  estimable  old  aunt  of  hers  who 
happened  to  be  with  her.  “You  wicked  girl,”  ex- 
claimed the  good  lady,  “ instead  of  kneeling  in 
thanksgiving  for  your  deliverance  you  are  enjoying 
roast  goose  and  apple-sauce.” 

The  shipwreck  did  not  shake  Madame’s  determi- 
nation or  her  husband’s.  They  were  as  eager  as 
ever  for  France.  The  following  spring  they  made 
their  final  departure  in  the  “ Erin,”  one  of  Mr. 
Patterson’s  ships.  They  reached  Lisbon  in  safety. 
There  they  were  met  by  a French  guard,  which 
came  to  prevent  Madame  from  landing.  Napo- 


142 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


leon’s  messenger  called  upon,  her  and  inquired 
suavely  what  he  could  do  for  Miss  Patterson.  The 
young  American  woman  met  the  insult  bravely  and 
with  becoming  dignity.  “ Tell  your  master,”  she 
retorted,  “ that  Madame  Bonaparte  is  ambitious  and 
demands  her  rights  as  a member  of  the  imperial 
family.” 

At  Lisbon  Jerome  and  his  wife  took  that  fare- 
well of  each  other  which  was  destined  to  be  their 
last.  He  left  her  with  many  assurances  of  his  love 
and  devotion  and  went  over  land  to  Paris  to  seek 
an  audience  of  Napoleon  and  to  plead  their  cause 
with  him. 

Elizabeth  sailed  away.  France  was  denied  her, 
and  in  the  “ Erin”  she  made  her  way  to  Amsterdam. 
But  there  again  she  was  met  with  a proof  of 
Napoleonic  power.  At  the  mouth  of  the  Texel 
two  men-of-war  awaited  her.  That  mighty  httle 
man,  her  brother-in-law,  who  held  the  whole  conti- 
nent under  his  thumb,  had  shut  all  its  doom  against 
her. 

She  was  obliged  to  seek  a refuge  in  England. 
There  her  fame  had  preceded  her.  A great  throng 
of  English  folk  had  assembled  to  witness  her  land- 
ing, and  Pitt,  the  prime  minister,  had  sent  a mili- 
tary escort  to  protect  her  from  the  somewhat 
embarrassing  attentions  of  a sympathetic  but 
curious  crowd. 

A few  weeks  after  her  landing  at  Camperwell, 
near  London,  on  the  7th  of  July,  1805,  her  son 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


143 


was  born.  She  named  the  hoy  after  his  father, 
Jerome  Bonaparte. 

While  she  was  in  England,  Madame  received 
many  fond  little  messages  from  her  young  husband. 
He  told  his  dear  “ Elise  ” that  his  first  thought  on 
rising  as  his  last  upon  retiring  was  always  of  her ; 
he  vowed  that  so  long  as  he  lived  he  would  always 
be  true  to  her,  and  that  he  would  die  sooner  than 
he  would  abandon  her. 

In  his  ardent  protestations  Jerome,  at  the  time, 
was  probably  sincere.  He  was  very  much  in  love 
with  his  charming  wife.  His  friends  were  made 
aware  of  that  fact.  General  and  Madame  Junot, 
with  whom  Jerome  breakfasted  on  his  way  to  Paris, 
listened  for  more  than  an  hour  to  his  praises  of  her. 
With  boyish  impetuosity,  he  confided  his  dearest 
hopes  and  fears  to  them.  He  showed  them  “ a fine 
miniature  of  his  wife,”  so  Madame  J unot  tells  us, 
“ the  features  exquisitely  beautiful,  with  a resem- 
blance to  those  of  the  Princess  Borghese,  his  sister, 
which  Jerome  said  he  and  many  Frenchmen  in 
Baltimore  had  remarked.”  “ Judge,”  he  said,  re- 
placing the  portrait  in  his  bosom,  “ if  I can  abandon 
a being  like  her.  I only  wish  the  Emperor  would 
consent  to  see  her  but  for  a single  moment.  As 
for  myself,  I am  resolved  not  to  yield.” 

Another  of  Jerome’s  friends,  to  whom  as  to 
the  Junots,  the  young  husband  opened  his  anxious 
heart,  wrote  of  him  : “ He  is  always  saying,  ‘ My 
wife,  my  dear  little  wife.’  He  seems  very  much 


144 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


affected,  and  declares  that  he  shall  forever  remem- 
ber the  shipwreck  that  they  encountered ; how 
well  on  that  trying  occasion  did  she  behave  ; how, 
when  danger  was  over,  he  pressed  her  in  Ids 
arms  ! ” 

While  Jerome  went  on  thus,  loving  his  wife  and 
heralding  her  charms  on  every  side,  he  believed 
that  in  the  end  Napoleon  would  acknowledge 
Elizabeth,  and  that  he  and  she  would  soon  be  al- 
lowed to  live  happily  together  in  the  glorious  sun- 
shine of  their  imperial  brother’s  favor. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  Jerome  entertained  such 
sanguine  hopes.  All  his  life  he  had  had  Ids  way. 
He  was,  in  fact,  something  of  a spoiled  boy.  As 
the  youngest  of  the  Bonapartes  he  had  escaped 
their  struggles,  but  had  come  into  a full  enjojunent 
of  tlieir  benefits.  He  Avas  his  mother’s  idol,  and 
all  Ids  life  she  gave  freely  to  him  what  she  with- 
held from  others.  Napoleon  had  never  regarded 
him  seriously.  His  “ mauvais  sujet”  as  he  called 
Jerome,  had  always  been  rather  a joke  with  him; 
but  indulgence,  like  all  things,  has  its  limits,  and 
this  Jerome  Avas  soon  to  learn. 

Upon  his  arrival  in  Paris,  Jerome  went  imme- 
diately to  call  upon  his  brother.  Napoleon  refused 
to  see  him.  He  sent  a message  to  1dm  bidchng  him 
Avrite  Avhat  he  wished  to  say.  Jerome  AAU’ote  and 
received  this  ansAver : 

“ I have  received  your  letter  this  moridng. 
There  are  no  faults  you  have  committed  AAddch 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


145 


may  not  be  effaced  in  my  eyes  by  a sincere  repent- 
ance. Your  marriage  is  null  and  void,  both  from 
a religious  and  legal  point  of  view.  I will  never 
acknowledge  it.  Write  Miss  Patterson  to  return 
to  the  United  States,  and  tell  her  it  is  not  possible 
to  grive  thino’S  another  turn.  On  condition  of  her 
return  to  America,  I will  allow  her  a pension  of 
sixty  thousand  francs  a year,  provided  she  does  not 
take  the  name  of  my  family,  to  which  she  has  no 
right,  her  marriage  having  no  existence.” 

This  was  the  stern  and  determined  stand  which 
Napoleon  took,  and  from  it  he  never  wavered.  He 
applied  to  the  Pope  for  an  annulment  of  the  mar- 
riage, and  accompanying  his  request,  by  way  of 
inducement  it  would  seem,  he  sent  the  Holy  Father 
a “ magnificent  gold  tiara.”  But  the  Pope,  un- 
moved by  tiaras  and  steadfast  in  his  integrity,  re- 
plied that  he  saw  no  grounds  on  which  the  marriage 
could  be  annulled.  His  refusal  angered  and  cha- 
grined the  Emperor,  but  it  did  not  change  him. 
Very  soon  a decree  of  divorce  was  passed  by  the 
Imperial  Council  of  State.  This  decree  was  the 
expression  of  Napoleon’s  unrelenting  and  inflexible 
nature. 

Jerome’s  loyalty  to  his  “ dearly  beloved  wife,” 
and  his  determination  never  to  abandon  her,  “•  began 
to  melt,”  so  we  are  told,  “ before  the  frowns  and 
brilliant  promises  ” of  his  imperial  brother.  And 
when  finally  he  was  admitted  to  Napoleon’s  pres- 
ence, his  submission  was  complete.  The  Emperor 


146 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


received  him  with  that  “ magnetic  smile,”  whose 
potency  swayed  stronger  men  than  this  youngest 
and  most  vacillating  of  all  the  Bonapartes. 

“ So,  sir ! ” he  declared,  “ you  are  the  first  of  all 
the  family  who  has  shamefully  abandoned  his  post. 
It  will  require  many  splendid  actions  to  wipe  out 
that  stain  from  your  reputation.  As  to  your  affair 
with  your  little  girl,  I pay  no  attention  to  it.” 

For  his  cowardly  desertion  of  his  “little  girl,” 
Jerome  was  splendidly  rewarded.  He  was  created 
a prince  of  tire  empire  and  raised  to  the  rank  of 
Admiral  of  the  French  fleet. 

Close  upon  his  newly-acquired  honors  came  his 
marriage  with  the  Princess  Catharine  of  Wiirtem- 
burg.  This  time  his  wife  was  chosen  to  satisfy  the 
ambitious  yearnings  of  his  brother  Napoleon.  His 
own  heart  was  not  consulted. 

Madame  Junothas  described  Jerome’s  first  meet- 
ing with  his  newly  affianced  bride.  In  it  we  seem 
to  feel  the  presence  of  another  bride,  the  one  who, 
to  quote  Jerome’s  own  words,  “had  created  a para- 
dise for  him  in  a strange  land.”  For,  try  as  they 
might.  Prince  Jerome  and  the  Princess  Catharine 
could  not  entirely  banish  in  this  their  first  meeting 
the  thought  of  Elizabeth  Patterson.  “ As  the 
princess  had  made  up  her  mind  to  give  her  hand  to 
Jerome,”  Avrites  Madame  Junot,  “it  was  desirable 
that  she  should  please  him,  as  he  certainly  regretted 
IMiss  Patterson,  his^eal  wife  and  a charming 
woman.  The  princess  Avas  not  pretty  ; she  seldom 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


147 


smiled ; her  expression  was  haughty.  Her  dress 
was  in  uncommon  bad  taste.  About  her  neck  were 
two  rows  of  very  fine  pearls,  to  which  was  sus- 
pended the  portrait  of  the  prince  set  in  diamonds. 
. . . Marshal  Bessieres  had  espoused  the  prin- 

cess by  proxy.  ...  As  Jerome  entered  she 
advanced  two  steps  and  made  him  her  compliments 
with  grace  and  dignity.  . . . Jerome  seemed 

to  be  there  because  he  had  been  told  ‘ You  must 
go.'  After  Jerome  retired  the  princess  fainted.” 

The  princess  “ fainted,”  and  in  so  doing  gave  us 
some  idea  of  the  hardness  of  her  lot.  Poor  Prin- 
cess Catharine  ! There  was  bitterness  in  her  cup, 
though  it  held  the  sweets  of  royalty,  fame,  and  for- 
tune. She  was  forever  haunted  by  the  thought  of 
her  predecessor.  When  she  became  the  wife  of 
Prince  Jerome  and  the  Queen  of  Westphalia, 
Madame  Rubelle  was  one  among  those  appointed 
to  be  her  ladies  in  waiting.  This  was  the  same 
Madame  Rubelle,  that  Baltimore  girl,  who  had 
married  one  of  Jerome’s  suite,  who  had  talked  to 
Jerome  of  the  beautiful  Miss  Patterson  and  joked 
with  him  about  his  “ belle  femme.”  The  princess 
looked  long  and  earnestly  at  her  new  lady  in  wait- 
ing. There  was  a meaning  question  in  her  eyes. 
“ Are  all  American  ladies  as  beautiful  as  your- 
self ? ” she  asked. 

On  August  12,  1807,  the  marriage  of  Prince 
Jerome,  King  of  Westphalia,  to  the  Princess  Fred- 
ericka  Catharina,  daughter  of  the  King  of  Wiirtem- 


148 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


burg,  was  solemnized.  “The  wedding  was  cele- 
brated,” so  we  are  told,  “ with  all  the  pomp  and 
ceremony  with  which  Napoleon  knew  so  well  how 
to  dazzle  the  French  people.”  After  the  “festivi- 
ties ” the  King  and  Queen  retired  to  their  minia- 
ture kingdom.  Jerome’s  short  chapter  of  romance 
was  indeed  ended.  And  it  was  in  an  imitation,  on 
a smaller  scale,  of  the  magnificence  of  his  imperial 
brother  that  the  young  prince  sought  to  banish  all 
memories  of  a boyish  love  and  its  attendant  happi- 
ness. 

And  the  heroine  of  this  boyish  love,  Madame 
Bonaparte,  the  abandoned  and  forgotten  wife,  what 
had  become  of  her  ? She  had  not  broken  her  heart 
nor  renounced  the  world,  nor  buried  herself  with 
her  grievances  and  disappointments  behind  some 
convent  walls.  No  indeed.  She  was  too  heartless 
and  worldly  and  sensible  for  that.  Instead  she  had 
merely  returned  to  what  she  termed  her  “ Balti- 
more obscurity.” 

She  came  back  with  the  glamor  of  romance  about 
her.  She  was  flattered  and  courted  and  admired 
by  the  people  of  her  native  land,  for  her  beauty 
and  charm  and  sad  history  made  her  an  object  of 
great  interest.  Yet,  in  spite  of  all  the  homage  that 
was  paid  her,  she  was  veiy  discontented  and  un- 
happy. She  could  not  help  contrasting  what  she 
was  with  what  she  might  have  been,  and  the  memory 
of  past  dreams  and  aspirations  and  desires  was  con- 
stantly mth  her. 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


149 


Hers  was  not  the  sort  of  character  that  grows 
sweet  under  adversity.  Nor  on  the  other  hand  was 
she  one  of  those  fragile  natures  that  are  humiliated 
and  broken  by  cruel  treatment.  Her  misfortunes 
only  served  to  make  what  was  heartless  in  her 
more  heartless,  what  was  Avorldly  more  worldly, 
and  what  was  cynical  more  cynical.  There  was  an 
added  sting  in  her  wit  and  a more  satirical  light  in 
her  eye.  No  one  dared  rejoice  over  her  downfall. 
She  was  too  formidable  an  opponent.  Indeed,  one 
cannot  but  admire  somewhat  the  proud,  disdainful 
spirit  with  Avhich  she  endured  her  fate. 

Her  friend  Lady  Morgan,  who  perhaps  understood 
her  better  than  did  any  one  else,  wrote  of  her : 
“ Madame  Bonaparte  was  not  of  the  pdte  out  of 
which  victims  and  martyrs  are  made.  Slie  held  lier 
difficult  position  with  a scornful  courage  that  ex- 
cites pity  for  the  woman’s  nature  so  scathed  and 
outraged.  Her  letters  bear  the  impress  of  a life  run 
to  waste ; they  are  clever,  mordant,  and  amusing, 
but  the  bitter  sense  of  wrong  cannot  be  concealed ; 
there  is  a dissatisfaction  — one  might  almost  call  it 
jealousy  — in  the  topics  discussed.” 

For  Jerome,  the  man  who  in  his  weakness  and 
cowardice  had  abandoned  her  and  dispelled  all  her 
illusions,  Madame  Bonaparte  had  a profound  con- 
tempt. But  Napoleon,  the  indirect  cause  of  all 
her  unhappiness,  she  continued  to  regard  with  an 
enthusiastic  admiration.  She  understood  and  re- 
spected his  position  toward  herself,  declaring  that 


150 


ELIZA  BE  TH  PA  TTER  SON. 


he  had  “ sacrificed  her  to  political  considerations, 
not  to  the  gratification  of  bad  feelings.”  She  ac- 
cepted the  annuity  which  he  had  granted  her, 
“ proud  to  be  indebted,”  so  she  said,  “ to  the 
greatest  man  of  modern  times.”  Tliis  annuity  was 
paid  to  her  regularly  after  her  return  to  America 
iintil  the  fall  of  the  Empire,  and  formed  the  basis 
of  the  large  fortune  of  which  she  died  possessed. 

Jerome,  after  his  marriage  to  the  Princess  Cath- 
arine, offered  Elizabeth  a share  in  his  kingdom 
and  an  annuity  beside.  To  the  former  proposition 
iMadame  Bonaparte  retorted,  “ Westphaha  is  a con- 
siderable kingdom,  but  not  large  enough  for  two 
queens  ; ” and  to  the  latter,  being  already  in  receipt 
of  the  annuity  from  Napoleon,  she  responded  that 
she  “ preferred  being  sheltered  under  the  wing  of 
an  eagle  to  being  suspended  from  the  bill  of  a 
goose.” 

This  reply  of  hers  so  delighted  Napoleon  that  he 
sent  word  to  iMadame  asking  what  favor  he  could 
bestow  upon  her  to  show  his  appreciation  of  her 
wit.  Madame  answered  that  she  was  ambitious 
and  would  like  to  become  a duchess.  Napoleon 
promised  to  make  her  one ; but  he  was  slow.  Time 
went  on;  Napoleon  was  deprived  of  his  empire, 
and  Madame  Bonaparte  did  not  get  her  duchy. 

However,  it  was  just  when  Napoleon  was  de- 
prived of  his  empire  that  iMadame  Bonaparte  did 
get,  if  not  a duchy,  at  least  something  that  she  had 
long  coveted ; that  was  admittance  to  the  courts  of 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


151 


Europe.  After  ten  years,  that  were  to  Madame’s 
restless  ambition  a veritable  imprisonment,  she  was 
free  to  go  where  she  pleased.  It  did  not  take  her 
long  to  bid  farewell  to  America  and  all  her  friends 
there  and  set  sail  for  the  Old  World.  Her  son 
she  left  behind  her  at  school  at  St.  Mary’s  College 
in  Emmettsburg,  Maryland,  and  within  a few 
months  of  Napoleon’s  final  overthrow  at  Waterloo 
she  was  in  Paris,  a conspicuous  figure  amid  the 
throng  of  distinguished  men  and  women  who 
crowded  the  French  capital  after  the  Restoration. 

Her  father  had  not  been  at  all  in  sympathy  with 
her  going.  He  wrote  to  her  that  she  had  made  her 
departure  contrary  to  the  wishes  of  all  her  friends. 
“ I hope  and  pray,”  he  told  her,  “ that  you  will  per- 
ceive your  mistake,  and  that  you  will  look  to  your 
mother  country  as  the  only  place  where  you  can  be 
truly  respected ; for  what  will  the  world  think  of 
a woman  who  had  recently  followed  her  mother 
and  last  sister  to  the  grave,  had  quit  her  father’s 
house  when  duty  and  necessity  called  for  her  atten- 
tions as  the  only  female  of  the  family  left,  and 
thought  proper  to  seek  for  admiration  in  foreign 
countries?”  Whatever  the  rest  of  the  world  may 
have  thought  of  Madame  Bonaparte  she  was  still  in 
her  father’s  eyes  his  naughty  “ Betsey ; ” the  black 
sheep  of  his  flock. 

Madame  Bonaparte  felt  her  father’s  condemnation 
of  her  conduct  to  be  very  unjust.  She  answered 
his  asperities  with  a blending  of  candor,  vanity,  and 


152 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


worldly  wisdom  that  is  certainly  amusing.  “ As 
to  the  opinions  of  old  Mr.  Gilmor  and  other  very 
respectable  and  worthy  persons  that  I ought  to  be 
in  Baltimore,”  she  said,  “ they  only  tell  you  so  be- 
cause they  know  that  their  daughters  might  come 
here  and  never  be  known.  Besides,  they  are  en- 
vious of  your  fortune  and  iuy  situation.  Look  how 
they  run  after  the  poorest  sprigs  of  nobilit}^  and 
then  you  will  know  what  they  think  of  my  stand- 
ing in  Europe.  I am  surprised  that  you  permit  the 
chattering  of  envious  tongues-  to  influence  you. 
If  people  in  America  do  not  approbate  my  conduct, 
what  is  the  reason  they  pay  me  so  much  attention  ? 
What  other  American  woman  was  ever  attended  to 
as  I have  been  there  ? Who  ever  had  better  offers  ? 
I never  would  marry  without  rank  or,  God  knows, 
I might  have  got  money  enough  by  marriage.  I 
confess  that  it  would  have  been  perhaps  a blessing 
if  I could  have  vegetated  as  the  wife  of  some  re- 
spectable man  in  business ; but  you  know  nature 
never  intended  me  for  obscurity,  and  that  with  my 
disposition  and  character  I am  better  as  I am.” 

Of  her  life  abroad  she  wrote,  “ I everj-  day  find 
new  reason  to  tliink  we  succeed  best  in  strange 
places,  since  human  infirmity  seldom  stands  the 
test  of  close  and  perpetual  communion.  Europe 
more  than  meets  the  brilliant  and  ^dvid  colors  in 
which  my  imagination  had  portrayed  it.  Its  re- 
sources are  infinite,  much  beyond  those  wliich  can 
be  offered  us  in  a new  country.  The  purposes  of 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


153 


life  are  all  fulfilled  — activity  and  repose  without 
monotony.  Beauty  commands  homage,  talents  se- 
cure admiration,  misfortune  meets  with  respect. 
Since  I am  so  happy  as  to  be  in  the  best  society,  I 
much  deplore  the  absence  of  my  American  friends  to 
witness  the  estimation  in  which  I am  held.  I have 
taken  a house  for  myself,  as  the  customs  of  this 
country  do  not  authorize  any  person  of  fashion  in 
remaining  at  a hoarding-house.  Lady  Falkener  has 
been  kind  enough  to  chaperon  me,  and  my  house 
communicates  with  hers.  There  is  no  danger  of  my 
committing  a single  imprudent  action  ; circumspect 
conduct  alone  can  preserve  those  distinctions  for 
which  I sighed  during  ten  years.” 

Thus  Madame  gives  us  a hint,  and  a pretty  broad 
one  too,  of  the  triumphs  and  gratification  that  were 
hers  in  Europe.  Her  success  there  was  remark- 
able, greater  than  that  ever  before  enjoyed  by  an 
American  woman.  In  Paris  she  was  asocial  queen. 
There  she  numbered  among  her  acquaintances  such 
men  as  Sismondi,  Humboldt,  and  Canova.  The 
Duke  of  Wellington  was  her  admirer.  Talleyrand 
met  her  and  had  many  a merry  joust  with  her.  “ If 
she  were  queen,”  he  was  heard  to  declare,  “ how 
gracefully  she  would  reign ! ” Madame  de  Stael 
saw  her  and  praised  her  beauty.  “ Yes,  she  is 
pretty,  very  pretty,”  the  talented  but  unbeautiful 
French  madame  remarked,  a little  wistfully,  as 
she  came  upon  Madame  Bonaparte  for  the  first 
time,  one  evening  at  a ball. 


154 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


The  French  King  Louis  XVIII.  heard  of 
Madame  Bonaparte’s  residence  in  Paris,  and  de- 
sired that  she  should  appear  at  his  court.  Her 
presence,  he  declared,  would  reflect  “ contemptu- 
ously on  the  late  Corsican  usurper.”  But  Madame, 
ever  loyal  to  the  man  who  had  blighted  her  life, 
declined  the  honor.  She  did  “ not  wish  to  pose  as 
a victim  of  imperial  tyranny,”  she  said  ; she  had 
“ accepted  the  Emperor’s  kindness,  and  ingratitude 
was  not  one  of  her  vices.” 

Of  coui'se,  all  this  homage  flattered  and  amused 
Madame  Bonaparte.  But  it  did  not  make  her 
happy.  She  could  never  get  away  from  the  thought 
of  the  utter  wearisomeness  and  emptiness  of  her 
existence.  She  told  her  friend  Lady  Morgan,  who 
was  her  confidant,  that  she  was  ill  and  “ very  triste." 
“ Everything  in  this  world  tires  me,”  she  said,  “ I 
do  not  know  why,  unless  it  he  the  recollection  of 
what  I have  suffered.  I am  of  your  opinion  : the 
best  thing  a woman  can  do  is  to  marry ; even  quar- 
rels with  one’s  husband  are  preferable  to  the  ennui 
of  a solitary  existence.  There  are  so  many  hours 
apart  from  those  appropriated  to  the  world  that 
one  cannot  get  rid  of,  at  least  one  like  myself,  hav- 
ing no  useful  occupation.” 

Madame’s  '•'•ennui''  and  discontent  made  her 
restless.  She  began  to  think  of  returning  home. 
“ My  desire  to  see  my  child,”  she  told  Lady  iMorgan, 
“ is  stronger  than  my  taste  for  Paris.”  So  back  to 
America  she  went. 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


155 


But  once  arrived  in  her  native  land,  she  found 
it  more  displeasing  than  ever.  She  bewailed  the 
time  that  she  was  forced  to  spend  in  a country 
where  there  was  “ no  court,  no  nobility,  and  no 
fit  associates  for  her.”  From  Baltimore  in  comic 
despair  she  wrote  to  her  friend  Lady  Morgan : “You 
have  a great  imagination,  but  it  can  give  you  no 
idea  of  the  mode  of  existence  inflicted  on  us.  The 
men  are  all  merchants ; and  commerce  may  fill  the 
purse,  but  clogs  the  brain.  Beyond  their  counting 
houses  they  possess  not  a single  idea;  they  never 
visit  except  when  they  wish  to  marry.  The  women 
are  occupied  in  les  details  du  menage  and  nursing 
children  — useful  occupations  that  do  not  render 
them  agreeable  to  their  neighbors.  The  men,  being 
all  bent  on  marriage,  do  not  attend  to  me,  because 
they  fancy  I am  not  inclined  to  change  the  evils 
of  my  condition  for  those  they  could  offer  me.  I 
have  been  thought  so  enmiyee  as  to  be  induced  to 
accept  very  respectable  offers,  but  I prefer  remain- 
ing as  I am  to  marrying  a person  to  whom  I am  in- 
different. ...  I embroider  and  read  ; those  are 
the  only  distractions  left  me.  Do  you  remember 
Madame  de  Stael’s  description  of  the  mode  of  life 
Corinne  found  in  an  English  country  town,  the 
subjects  of  conversation  limited  to  births,  deaths, 
and  marriages  ? My  opinion  of  them  has  so  long 
been  decided  — that  it  is  a misery  to  be  born  and 
to  be  married  I have  painfully  experienced,  with- 
out lessening  my  dread  of  death  — that  you  can 


156 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


imagine  how  little  relish  I have  for  these  triste 
topics  and  how  gladly  I seek  refuge  from  listening 
to  them  by  retiring  to  my  own  apartment.” 

Surely  Madame’s  life  in  Baltimore,  to  judge  from 
her  own  description  of  it,  cannot  have  been  very 
interesting.  We  do  not  wonder  that,  regarding  it 
as  she  did,  she  was  glad  to  leave  it  on  the  first  ex- 
cuse that  offered.  This  time  it  was  her  son’s  edu- 
cation that  carried  her  abroad.  The  boy,  she  said, 
should  be  instructed  as  befitted  “ his  rank  and  tal- 
ent.” Accordingly,  in  the  early  summer  of  1819, 
she  went  with  him  to  Geneva. 

As  soon  as  they  arrived  in  Geneva,  Jerome  was 
immediately  put  to  school,  and  his  mother  took  her 
place,  which  was  a prominent  one,  in  the  social  life 
of  the  city.  The  nobility  were  her  friends  — Prin- 
cess Potemkin,  Prince  Demidoff,  and  the  Princess 
Gallitzin. 

With  the  Baron  Bonstetten,  savant  and  philan- 
thropist, Madame  was  an  especial  favorite.  It  was 
at  his  house  at  a ball  one  evening  that  she  met 
Duke  William  of  Wiirtemburg,  uncle  of  Jerome’s 
second  wife.  After  a half  hour’s  conversation  with 
Madame,  the  Duke  was  her  most  enthusiastic  ad- 
mirer. “ What  grace,  what  beauty,  what  wit ! ” he 
said  of  her.  “ My  poor  niece  ! One  must  in  jus- 
tice admit  that  she  could  never  reign  as  could  that 
beautiful  American,  avIio  is  by  every  right  the  real 
queen.”  “ Ah,”  exclaimed  the  Baron  Bonstetten, 
who  chanced  to  overhear  him,  “if  the  beautiful 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


157 


American  is  not  queen  of  Westphalia,  she  is  at 
least  queen  of  hearts.” 

Glimpses  of  the  gay  life  which  Madame  was 
leading  at  this  period  come  to  us  in  the  letters 
which  her  son  sent  to  his  grandfather  at  home. 
“ Mamma  goes  out  nearly  every  night  to  a party  or 
a ball,”  writes  the  boy.  “ She  says  she  looks  full 
ten  years  younger  than  she  is,  and  if  she  had  not 
so  large  a son  she  could  pass  for  five  and  twenty 
years  old.  She  has  a dancing  master  and  takes 
regularly  three  lessons  a week ; is  every  day  aston- 
ished at  the  progress  she  makes,  and  is  fully  deter- 
mined to  dance  next  Avinter.” 

Yet,  in  spite  of  her  gay  life,  it  seems  that  Madame 
was  maintaining  herself  in  a very  modest  way.  Her 
small  income,  which  was  the  interest  on  the  annuity 
granted  her  by  Napoleon,  Avould  only  permit  her  to 
keep  house  on  a very  economical  scale.  Her  apart- 
ment consisted  of  four  rooms,  so  Jerome  informs 
us,  and  she  kept  but  one  servant,  who  did  the  busi- 
ness of  Avaiter  and/emme  de  cliamhre. 

Jerome  did  not  estimate  European  life  as  highly 
as  did  his  mother.  In  one  of  his  letters  to  his 
grandfather  he  declares  : “ Since  I have  been  in 
Europe  T have  dined  Avith  princes  and  princesses, 
but  I have  not  found  a dish  as  much  to  my  taste 
as  the  roast  beef  and  beef  steak  I ate  at  your  table.” 
And  again,  “ I never  had  any  idea  of  remaining  all 
my  life  on  the  Continent,”  he  protests.  “ On  the 
contrary,  as  soon  as  my  education  is  finished  I shall 


158 


ELIZA  BE  TH  PA  T TER  SON. 


hasten  over  to  America,  which  I have  regretted 
leaving  ever  since  I left.” 

And  even  Madame  was  not  entirely  satisfied 
with  the  European  way  of  living,  such  as  she 
found  it  in  Geneva.  That  city,  she  complained, 
was  “ tolerably  expensive,”  quite  as  much  so  as 
Paris.  In  the  hoarding-houses  of  the  place  “ there 
was  no  feast  to  he  found,”  so  she  declared,  “un- 
less it  was  the  feast  of  reason ; the  hosts  are  too 
spirituelle  to  imagine  that  their  pensionnaires  pos- 
sess a vulgar  appetite  for  meat,  vegetables,  tarts, 
and  custards,  but  as  I cannot  subsist  altogether  on 
the  contemplation  of  la  belle  Nature.,  I have  taken 
a comfortable  apartment,  where  I hope  to  get  some- 
thing to  eat.” 

In  Geneva  Madame  Bonaparte  was  known  as 
Madame  Patterson,  and  her  son  as  Edward  Patter- 
son, for  it  was  feared  that  unless  they  suppressed 
their  name  the  Swiss  government  might  see  fit  to 
banish  them,  as  it  had  banished  other  members  of 
the  Bonaparte  family.  .lerome  had  not  been  al- 
lowed to  pass  through  France  on  account  of  his 
striking  resemblance  to  his  uncle,  the  Emperor  Xa- 
poleon,  a resemblance  of  which  his  mother  was  duly 
proud.  The  Bourbons  were  afraid,  so  it  was  re- 
ported, that  the  hoy’s  presence  might  cause  a Bona- 
partist  insurrection. 

When  they  had  been  some  time  in  Geneva, 
Madame  and  her  son  received  an  invitation  from 
the  Princess  Borghese,  Pauline  Bonaparte,  the  fa- 


ELIZABETH  PA  TTERSON. 


159 


vorite  sister  of  the  Emperor,  to  come  and  visit  her 
in  her  palace  at  Rome.  At  first  Madame  hesitated 
to  accept  the  invitation.  She  did  not  wish  to  in- 
terrupt her  son’s  studies,  she  said,  and  her  friends, 
John  Jacob  Astor  and  Lady  Morgan,  and  others, 
advised  her  to  keep  away  from  the  princess.  Pau- 
line Bonaparte  was  notoriously  fickle,  they  told 
her,  and  there  was  no  dependence  to  be  placed  in 
her  promises.  Madame,  however,  was  very  anxious 
to  see  the  princess  and  the  rest  of  her  imperial  rel- 
atives. Moreover,  she  felt  that  it  would  be  to 
her  son’s  interest  to  become  acquainted  with  his 
father’s  family.  “ Although  I expect  no  advantage 
from  such  a measure,”  she  declared,  “ yet  it  is  a 
duty  to  leave  nothing  undone  which  offers  the  most 
remote  chance  of  benefit.”  Accordingly,  about  the 
middle  of  November,  1821,  Madame  and  her  son 
went  to  Rome. 

In  Rome  they  were  most  cordially  received  by 
the  Princess  Borghese,  Madame  M^re,  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  Bonaparte  family  who  were  in  the  city. 
Madame  saw  her  imperial  relatives  every  day,  and 
her  son  was  with  them  constantly.  “ He  dines 
with  them,  rides  with  them,  and  goes  to  their  boxes 
at  the  theatre,”  wrote  Madame. 

Of  course  Madame  Bonaparte  surveyed  her  rel- 
atives very  critically  and  acutely.  “ The  old  lady,” 
she  judged,  was  a “ sensible,  dignified,  highly  re- 
spectable person,  who  promised  nothing  more  than 
she  performed.”  And  “Pauline,”  she  decided, 


160 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


“was  empty-headed,  selfish,  and  vain,  caring  only 
for  luxury,  hut  in  every  line  as  exquisite  as  Can- 
ova’s  statue  represents  her.” 

Prince  Jerome,  the  ex-King  of  Westphalia,  was 
not  in  Rome  at  the  time  of  Madame’s  visit.  But 
there  was  talk  of  his  coming,  and  iMadame  wrote 
to  her  father:  “ I shall  not  see  the  King  of  West- 
phalia. I shall  hold  my  tongue,  which  is  all  I can 
possibly  do  for  him.”  Her  reticence  spealcs  her 
scorn.  In  her  kind  feelings  toward  the  Bonapartes, 
Madame  never  included  the  man  who  had  aban- 
doned her. 

Madame  felt  repaid  for  her  journey  to  Rome 
when  she  saw  what  a favorable  impression  her  son 
had  made  upon  liis  father’s  family;  and  a favora- 
ble impression  the  young  man  certainly  had  made. 
Indeed,  he  could  not  very  well  do  otherwise,  for,  if 
accounts  be  true,  he  must  have  been  a most  attrac- 
tive young  gentleman.  His  proud  mamma  tells  us 
how  very  much  he  was  “ attended  to  by  all  hands 
in  Europe.”  “Some  ladies  in  Rome,”  she  said, 
“ ran  after  him  so  much  that  I feared  his  being 
spoiled,  although  he  seemed  quite  unconscious  of 
it,  supposing,  probably,  that  women  old  enough  to 
be  his  grandmother  could  not  be  foolish  enough  to 
fall  in  love  with  him.  It  is  certain  that  his  beauty 
attracted  great  attention ; a German  princess  told 
me  that  she  had  followed  him  once  in  Geneva  at  a 
ball  from  room  to  room  to  look  at  him,  and  that  he 
was  the  handsomest  creature  she  ever  saw.  He 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


161 


certainly  is  the  handsomest  boy  I ever  saw  of  his 
age  and  in  all  respects  the  finest  creature  possible. 
His  modesty  and  good  sense  alone  prevent  his 
being  spoiled,  for,  I assure  you,  he  received  atten- 
tions sufficient  to  haAm  turned  much  older  heads.” 

The  young  Jerome  was,  you  see,  a veritable  “ beau 
ideal.”  Naturally  Madame  Mdre  and  the  Princess 
Borghese  and  all  the  rest  of  the  Bonaparfes  Avere 
glad  to  claim  their  relationship  to  one  Avho  came  to 
them  endoAved  Avith  such  charms  and  graces.  Very 
soon  they  set  about  providing  for  him,  and  sug- 
gested the  idea  of  a marriage  between  him  and  his 
cousin  the  Princess  Charlotte,  who  was  residing 
Avith  her  father,  Joseph  Bonaparte,  near  Borden- 
town,  NeAV  Jersey. 

Jerome  took  a very  boyish  and  naive  view  of  the 
matter.  His  chief  desire  for  the  match  seems  to 
have  been  that  it  would  carry  him  home.  He 
wrote  to  his  grandfather  on  the  subject.  “ My 
grandmother  and  my  aunt  and  uncle  talk  of  marry- 
ing me  to  my  uncle’s,  the  Count  de  Survillier’s, 
daughter,  who  is  in  the  United  States.  I hope  it 
may  take  place,  for  then  I Avould  return  to  Amer- 
ica and  pass  the  rest  of  my  life  among  my  relations 
and  friends.  Mamma  is  very  anxious  for  the 
match.  My  father  is  also,  and  all  of  my  father’s 
family,  so  that  I hope  that  you  will  also  approve 
of  it.” 

Shortly  after  the  writing  of  this  letter  Jerome  set 
sail  for  Ameriea  with  the  intention  of  making  ar- 


162 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


rangements  for  tlie  marriage.  The  scheme,  how- 
ever, fell  through,  and  Jerome  never  wedded  his 
cousin,  though  he  and  she  became  very  good  friends. 

Jerome,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  not  very  much  dis- 
turbed by  the  failure  of  the  marriage  plans.  He 
was  quite  content  to  remain  a bachelor  a little 
longer  and  to  settle  down  to  the  hard  work  and 
good  times  of  a life  at  Harvard. 

But  with  his  mother  it  was  different.  She  was 
ambitious  for  her  son  as  she  had  once  been  ambitious 
for  herself.  The  marriage  between  him  and  his 
cousin  Charlotte  she  had  regarded  as  “ the  wish  of 
her  heart,”  and  she  had  declared  that  she  would 
consider  every  one  who  opposed  as  “ an  idiot  and 
an  enemy.”  When  the  scheme  failed  she  was,  as 
she  herself  expressed  it,  “ wofully  disappointed.” 
However,  she  was  not  unprepared.  “ Nothing  can 
or  ever  will  surprise  me  in  that  family,”  she  said ; 
“ there  is  no  reliance  to  be  placed  on  any  of  that 
race.” 

After  her  son’s  departure  for  America,  Madame 
stayed  in  Rome  for  a few  weeks,  and  then  she 
visited  Florence.  In  Florence  she  saw  her  husband 
for  the  first  and  only  time  since  their  affectionate 
parting  from  each  other  at  Lisbon  so  many  3-ears 
before.  The  old-time  lovers  came  upon  each  other 
suddenly  in  the  gallerj^  of  the  Pitti  Palace. 
Jerome  was  with  the  Princess  Catharine.  Though 
he  and  Elizabeth  recognized  each  other,  the}-  did 
not  exchange  an}-  greeting,  but  passed  each  other 


ELIZA  BE  TH  PA  TTER  SOiV. 


163 


like  strangers,  Jerome  whispering  to  the  Princess 
Catharine,  “ That  was  my  American  wife.” 

During  her  son’s  four  years  at  Harvard  College, 
Madame  remained  abroad  leading  a gay  life  and 
making  only  one  short  visit,  and  that  on  business 
considerations,  to  her  native  land.  But  the  hoy, 
“ Bo,”  as  she  called  him,  was  always  in  her  thouglits, 
and  she  sent  him,  and  his  grandfather  in  his  behalf, 
many  words  of  worldly  advice  and  warning. 

She  was  very  desirous  that  her  son  should  have 
a finished  education.  Parsimonious  in  all  things 
else,  in  respect  to  that  she  was  generous.  Her 
reason  for  so  being  was  characteristic.  “ I consider 
a good  education,”  she  wrote,  “ the  best  possible 
investment,  because  it  always  commands  both 
money  and  consideration  in  the  world.  ...  It 
would  have  been  a sad  mistake  if  Bo  had  fancied 
an  ordinary  education  or  common  attainments 
Avould  have  sufficed  liim.  He  is  too  conspicuously 
placed  to  permit  himself  to  rest  contented  Avith  the 
exertions  made  by  other  people ; and,  however 
agreeable  it  may  he  to  bear  a great  name,  it  is  less 
easy  to  bear  it  with  propriety  than  one  which  attracts 
less  notice.”  And  again,  writing  in  very  much  the 
same  strain,  she  remarked,  “ If  Bo  takes  a good 
education  and  continiies  handsome  there  is  always 
a probability,  with  his  name,  of  my  marrying  him 
advantageously.  But  if  I cannot”  — she  broke 
off,  and  here  we  may  imagine  a sage  shaking  of 
Madame’s  chestnut  curls,  “ he  has  only  to  live  a 


164 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


bachelor,  for  the  next  best  thing  to  making  a good 
match  is  not  to  make  a bad  one.” 

Of  course,  Madame  was  filled  with  apprehension 
at  the  very  thought  of  her  boy’s  making  what  she 
considered  “ a bad  one.”  “ I hope,”  she  wrote  to 
Bo’s  grandfather,  “ that  there  is  no  danger  of  his 
forming  an  imprudent  matrimonial  connection ; if 
he  cannot  marry  suitably  — and  in  America  he 
could  not  — he  can  live  single.”  She  besought 
the  old  gentleman  to  discourage  “ all  tendency  to 
romance  and  absurd  falling  in  love.”  “ Love  in  a 
cottage,”  she  declared,  “ is  even  out  of  fashion  in 
novels.  I should  consider  an  amiable  prolific 
daughter-in-law  a very  poor  compensation  for  all 
the  trouble  I have  had  with  that  boj^,  and  most 
sincerely  hope  the  amiable  scheming  (for  even  in 
America  the  women  know  their  own  interest  and 
look  as  sharply  after  matches  as  they  do  here) 
young  ladies  will  select  some  other  unsuspecting 
dupe.” 

IMadame’s  talk  savors  of  the  atmosphere  in  which 
she  lived,  the  atmosphere  of  Vanity  Fair,  where 
all  the  women  are  “ schemei’s  ” and  where  all  the 
men  are  either  schemers  or  “ unsuspecting  dupes,” 
where  falling  in  love  is  deemed  most  “ absurd,” 
and  where  the  end  and  aim  of  everybody’s  exis- 
tence is  to  “ marry  advantageously  ” and  thereby 
secure  to  one’s  self  rank,  money,  and  “consider- 
ation in  the  world.” 

IMadame’s  letters  are  continually  giving  us 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


165 


glimpses  of  this  cold,  calculating,  unsatisfying 
Vanity  Fair,  the  real  Vanity  Fair,  beside  which 
Thackeray’s  “Vanity  Fair”  is  only  an  excellent 
painting. 

She  tells  us,  a little  spitefully  it  would  seem,  of 
the  European  career  of  her  old-time  neighbors 
and  acquaintances,  the  Caton  sisters  of  Baltimore. 
“ They  are  not  yet  married,”  she  reports,  “ which 
considering  their  persevering  endeavors  and  in- 
vincible courage  rather  surprises  me.”  Later  she 
refers  to  the  Duke  of  Wellington  giving  one  of 
them  “ a cool  reception  ” on  her  second  visit  to 
England.  “ The  Duke  is  said  to  be  tired  of  them,” 
she  remarks,  “ but  tired  or  not,  they  pursue  him, 
live  on  his  estate,  and  until  he  gets  them  hus- 
bands, he  will  never  get  rid  of  them.”  Finally 
she  is  forced  to  acknowledge  their  success,  and  a 
touch  of  envy  creeps  into  her  discourse  as  slie 
records,  “ I suppose  you  have  heard  of  Mary’s  (Mary 
Caton’s)  great  good  fortune  in  marrying  the  Mar- 
quis of  Wellesley.  He  is  sixty-six  years  old,  so 
much  in  debt  that  the  plate  on  his  table  is  lured, 
bad  his  carriage  once  seized  in  the  streets  of  Dub- 
lin, and  has  a great  part  of  his  salary  mortgaged ; 
but,  with  all  these  drawbacks  to  perfect  bappiness, 
he  is  considered  a very  good  match,  because  he  is  a 
man  of  rank.  ...  I think  they  (the  Catons) 
are  the  most  fortunate  people  I ever  heard  or  read 
of.  Louisa  (Caton)  has  made  a great  match.  He 
(the  eldest  son  of  the  Duke  of  Leeds)  is  very 


166 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


handsome,  not  more  than  twenty-eight,  and  will  he 
a duke  with  thirty  thousand  pounds  a year.  . . . 
The  Duke  of  Leeds,  they  say,  is,  of  course,  very 
angry  at  his  son’s  marriage  with  Louisa.  . . . 

Mrs.  Caton  may  with  truth  congratulate  herself 
upon  the  judgment  and  patience  she  displayed  in 
sending  her  daughters  to  Europe  and  in  keeping 
them  abroad  until  something  advantageous  turned 
up.” 

Madame  also  tells  of  the  similar  “ persevering 
endeavors  ” and  “ good  fortune  ” of  another  Amer- 
ican family  in  Europe.  iNIr.  Astor  and  his 
daughter  are  here,”  she  wrote  ; “ he  seems,  poor 
man,  afflicted  by  the  possession  of  a fortune  which 
he  had  greater  pleasure  in  amassing  than  he  can 
ever  find  in  spending.  He  is,  too,  ambitious  for  his 
daughter,  to  whom  nature  has  been  as  penurious 
as  fortune  has  been  the  reverse.  She  may  marry 
by  the  weight  of  her  person,  but  any  idea  of  dis- 
posing of  her  except  to  some  painstaldng  man  of 
business  or  ruined  French  or  Italian  nobleman, 
would  be  absurd.  She  is  not  handsome,  and  sense 
cannot  he  bought ; therefore  they  will  wander 
from  place  to  place  a long  time  before  their  object  is 
accomplished.”  Later,  after  the  due  coui-se  of  time 
and  wandering,”  the  “ object  was  accomplished,” 
and  jMadame  was  able  to  report,  “ l\Ir.  Astor  has 
at  length  succeeded  in  mariying  his  daughter 
very  well.  She  is  married  to  a !Mr.  Rumph,  a Ger- 
man, who  represents  all  the  free  towns.  He  has  no 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


167 


fortune,  but  he  is  well  connected  and  has  it  in  his 
power  to  introduce  her  into  the  best  company. 
Astor  is  delighted  with  the  match.  He  and  Mr. 
Reid  managed  to  make  it ; and  Reid  tells  me  he 
assisted  to  draw  and  sign  the  marriage  articles  by 
which  Astor  settled  three  hundred  thousand  dollars 
on  her  for  the  present.  Rumph  is  a handsome  man 
of  thirty-seven,  and  we  all  think  she  has  been  very 
fortunate  in  getting  him,  as  she  has  no  beauty.” 

Vanity  Fair,  it  seems,  was  not  so  considerate  to 
all  of  Madame’s  American  acquaintances  as  it  was 
to  the  Catons  and  Astors.  The  Gallatins  appar- 
ently did  not  meet  with  that  “ good  fortune  ” which 
distinguished  the  others.  Madame  waxes  compas- 
sionate when  writing  of  them.  “ I am  sorry,”  she 
says,  “ the  Gallatins  are  not  likely  to  return.  I 
believe  the  little  prospect  they  had  of  marrying 
their  daughter  in  Paris,  which  is  quite  impossible 
without  giving  her  what  they  have  not  to  give,  — a 
fortune,  — was  the  only  consideration  which  recon- 
ciled the  ladies  to  going  home.  Miss  Gallatin  is 
very  pretty,  was  very  much  admired,  and  required 
only  money  to  have  married ; but  the  trouble  is  no 
one  will  take  girls  without  fortunes  — people  have 
tbo  much  sense  here  (I  mean  people  who  are  worth 
marrying)  to  marry  only  for  love,  as  they  do  in 
America.  There  is  now  and  then,  to  be  sure,  a 
marriage  of  inclination  made  by  Englishmen  of 
rank,  but  it  requires  uncommon  good  management 
to  secure  luck  of  this  kind.” 


168 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


Thus  Madame  introduces  us  in  the  most  una- 
bashed and  candid  way  to  the  world  about  her. 
Whatever  her  faults,  Madame  was  perfectly  honest 
and  sincere.  She  said  exactly  what  she  thought, 
and  she  never  tried  to  appear  better  than  she  was. 
She  thoroughly  approved  of  this  peculiar  kind 
of  “ contriving  ” and  “ managing.”  Indeed,  she 
thought  it  was  a necessary  part  of  every  sensible 
person’s  life,  and  she  herself  engaged  in  it  most 
zealously  in  her  son’s  behalf. 

No  sooner  had  “ Bo  ” completed  his  course  at 
Harvard,  which  he  did  in  the  year  1826,  than  she 
desired  his  presence  abroad.  With  her  customary 
unreservedness,  she  explained  in  a letter  to  her 
father  just  Avhy  she  wanted  him.  “ I have  been 
advised,”  she  said,  “ to  have  Bo  sent  to  visit  lus 
father  and  the  rest  of  the  family.  I confess  I am 
not  of  the  opinion  that  expectations  of  future  wealth 
are  worth  running  after,  but  it  is  certain  that  they 
(the  Bonapartes)  have  it  in  their  power  to  leave 
legacies,  and  that  I shall  be  much  blamed  if  I do 
not  put  the  boy  in  the  way  of  getting  mentioned  in 
their  wills.  The  old  lady  (Madame  Mere)  is  not 
near  so  rich  as  people  think.  I hope  she  will  leave 
Bo  a legacy,  because  it  is  always  a compliment  to 
be  remembered  in  people’s  wills,  and  a legacy  here 
and  there  adds  to  one's  means.  The  Cardinal 
(Fesch,  uncle  of  Napoleon,  and  Bo’s  great-uncle)  is 
rich,  and,  as  he  hates  most  of  his  nephews  and 
nieces,  I hope  he  wiil  leave  Bo  a trifle ; but  he  may 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


169 


live  a long  time,  being  not  above  sixty ; at  all 
events,  there  will  be  no  harm  done  in  jogging  his 
memory  by  a sight  of  the  boy.  Above  all,  it  will 
improve  his  (the  boy’s)  mind  and  manners  to  travel, 
and  I consider  that  of  equal  value  with  legacies.” 

Bo  was  a dutiful  young  man.  Of  course  he  did 
not  fail  to  obey  Madame’s  bidding  and  hasten 
abroad.  After  his  arrival  in  Europe  lie  stayed  for  a 
while  with  his  mother  in  Switzerland.  Then  he 
went  to  Italy  to  see  his  father  and  visit  him  at  the 
Chateau  Lanciano. 

It  was  the  first  meeting  between  father  and  son. 
Bo  wrote  his  grandfather  that  “ from  his  father  he 
had  a most  cordial  reception,  and  that  he  was 
treated  with  all  possible  kindness.”  The  Princess 
Catharine,  we  are  told,  greeted  him  with  “ mater- 
nal kindness  and  went  two  leagues  to  meet  him, 
and  taking  his  face  between  her  hands  said  ten- 
derly, ‘ Ah,  my  child,  I am  the  innocent  cause  of 
all  your  misfortune.’  ” 

Jerome’s  letters  to  his  grandfather  give  us 
glimpses  of  the  life  he  led  at  his  father’s  home. 
The  young  American  seems  to  have  felt  quite  out 
of  place  in  the  lazy,  extravagant  atmosphere  of  the 
Chateau  Lanciano.  We  cannot  but  admire  his 
sound  common  sense  and  sturdy  patriotism.  Cer- 
tainly his  character  and  tastes  were  very  different 
from  those  of  both  his  father  and  his  mother.  “ I 
am  exceedingly  tired  of  the  way  of  living  at  my 
father’s,”  he  wrote.  “We  breakfast  between  twelve 


170 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


and  one  o’clock,  dine  between  six  and  seven,  and 
take  tea  between  eleven  and  twelve  at  night,  so 
that  I seldom  get  to  bed  before  half-past  one  o’clock 
in  the  morning.  My  father  does  not  see  much 
company  at  present,  but  during  much  the  greater 
part  of  the  twenty-four  hours  the  whole  of  his 
family  is  assembled  together  in  the  parlor,  princi- 
pally for  the  purpose  of  killing  time.  ISTo  one  about 
the  house  does  anything,  and  I find  it  impossible  to 
read  or  study.  The  expenses  of  my  father  are  enor- 
mous and  so  greatly  exceed  his  means  that  he  has 
not  the  power,  even  if  he  had  the  inclination,  to  do 
anything  for  me ; indeed,  I fear  that  I have  very 
little,  if  anything,  to  expect  from  my  father’s 
family.  I feel  that  I am  living  in  a style  to  which 
I am  not  entitled,  and  to  wdiich,  not  being  able  to 
support  it,  I do  not  wish  to  become  accustomed, 
more  especially  as  it  would  totally  unfit  me  for 
living  in  America.  You  have  no  idea  how  anxious 
I am  to  return  home.  I was  always  aware  that 
America  was  the  only  country  for  me,  but  now  I 
am  more  firmly  persuaded  of  it  than  ever.” 

Early  in  March  Jerome  left  his  father’s  home 
and  joined  his  mother,  who  was  in  Florence.  He 
found  his  mother  in  a most  elated  frame  of  mind, 
her  head  quite  turned  by  the  attentions  which  she 
was  receiving  from  the  royaltj^  and  foreign  am- 
bassadors, delighted  with  the  city  and  its  frivoli- 
ties, going  out  “all  clay  and  half  the  night.”  She 
had  been  presented  at  the  court  of  Tuscany,  at  that 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


171 


time  the  most  brilliant  court  iii  Europe,  and  had 
been  received  in  a most  flattering  manner  by  the 
Grand  Duke  and  Duchess.  Indeed,  the  Duke’s  and 
Duchess’s  kindness  had  so  delighted  Madame  that, 
as  she  expressed  it,  she  had  been  “ quite  overcome.” 

I nearly  burst  into  tears,”  she  said,  “ but  saying 
to  myself,  ‘ Good  gracious,  I shall  spoil  my  lovely 
satin  gown  and  be  thought  hete  to  make  a scene,’ 
this  reflection  restored  my  serenity  and  enabled 
me  to  go  through  the  ceremony  with  becoming 
dignity.” 

It  was  during  Madame’s  residence  in  Florence 
that  she  met  Prince  Gortschakoff,  the  famous 
Russian  chancellor.  He  and  slie  became  great 
friends,  and  held  many  spirited  arguments.  They 
corresponded  with  each  other  for  many  years.  Gort- 
schakoff admired  Madame’s  ‘•^finesse.’’''  He  declared 
she  would  make  a splendid  diplomat,  and  it  was 
Gortschakoff  who  said  of  her  : “ Had  she  been  near 
the  throne,  the  allies  would  have  found  it  even  more 
difficult  to  dispose  of  Napoleon.” 

From  the  fascinating  life  of  Florence,  its  interest- 
ing  people,  dukes,  duchesses,  princes,  princesses,  and 
ambassadors,  Madame  could  not  endure  to  separate 
herself.  When  her  son  returned  home  in  the  sum- 
mer of  1827,  she  let  him  go  alone.  For  her  own 
future  satisfaction  she  might  better  have  gone 
with  him.  Then,  perhaps,  she  could  have  averted 
the  bitter  disappointment  that  was  in  store  for  her. 
This  came  two  years  later,  when  her  son  married 


172 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


» Miss  Susan  May  Williams,  daughter  of  a Baltimore 
merchant. 

With  the  news  of  this  marriage,  all  Madame’s 
ambitious  plans  of  nearly  a quarter  of  a century 
were  shattered.  She  had,  as  she  declared,  “ endeav- 
ored to  instil  into  her  son  from  the  hour  of  his  birth 
the  opinion  that  he  was  much  too  high  in  birth  and 
connection  ever  to  marry  an  American.”  “ The 
nephew  of  Napoleon,”  she  had  said,  “has  no 
equal  in  America.”  She  had  tried  to  give  him  her 
“ambition  and  pride  and  to  furnish  him  with  ideas 
suitable  to  his  rank  in  life.”  But  she  had  failed, 
and  now  she  was  rudely  brought  to  the  conclusion, 
so  she  told  her  father,  that,  referring  to  her  son, 
she  could  not*  make  “ a silk  purse  out  of  a sow's 
ear  ” any  more  than,  referring  to  herself,  he  (her 
father)  could  make  “ a sow’s  ear  out  of  a silk 
purse.”  The  whole  tenor  of  her  discourse  shows 
that,  had  she  been  in  Napoleon’s  place  in  180.5,  she 
would  have  acted  with  the  same  despotism  to  pre- 
vent the  marriage  between  Jerome  Bonaparte  and 
Elizabeth  Patterson. 

Of  course,  to  Madame,  viewing  life  as  she  did, 
her  son’s  marriage  was  a heavy  blow.  In  describ- 
ing its  effect  upon  her,  “ I nearly  went  ]nad,”  she 
said,  “ and  almost  died  when  I first  heard  it.”  In- 
deed, her  health  and  spirit  Avere  quite  broken,  and 
her  physicians  advised  change  of  air  and  scene  for 
her.  AccorcUngly,  in  the  spring  of  1831,  she  left 
Florence  with  her  friend  the  Princess  GaUitzin,  and 
took  up  her  residence  in  Geneva. 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


173 


It  was  while  she  was  at  Geneva  that  Madame 
made  her  famous  retort  to  the  Hon.  Mr.  Dimdas. 
It  was  at  a dinner  party,  and  Mr.  Dundas,  a regu- 
lar John  Bull,  with  all  of  a John  Bull’s  self-satis- 
faction and  proud  superiority,  was  seated  beside 
her.  Mr.  Dundas  was  not  exactly  pleased  with 
Madame.  He  had  formerly  felt  the  sting  of  her 
sarcasm,  and  he  longed  to  “ get  even  ” with  her. 
So  it  was  with  malicious  intent  that  he  inquired  of 
her  if  she  had  read  Captain  Basil  Hall’s  book  on 
America.  Madame  answered  that  she  had.  “ And 
did  you  observe,”  bluntly  continued  the  English- 
man, “ that  he  called  all  Americans  vulgarians  ? ” 
“ Yes,”  replied  Madame  Bonaparte,  and  the  whole 
table  paused  to  listen,  while  her  answer  came  in 
clear,  sweet,  cutting  tones,  “ and  I was  not  sur- 
prised. Were  the  Americans  descendants  of  the 
Indians  and  Esquimaux  I should  have  been ; but 
being  the  direct  descendants  of  the  English,  nothing 
is  more  natural  than  that  they  should  be  vulga- 
rians.” 

Madame  was  at  this  time  forty-seven  years  old. 
She  was  still  a beautiful  woman.  Even  Tom 
Moore,  the  poet,  admitted  that  she  was.  Tom 
Moore  did  not  admire  Madame  Bonaparte.  He 
described  her  as  a woman  wholly  without  senti- 
ment. She  ridiculed  love,  he  said,  declaring  that 
she  herself  had  married  for  position,  and  that  any 
one  was  a fool  who  married  for  love. 

Perhaps  it  was  Madame’s  absence  of  sentiment 


174 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


that  made  it  so  hard  for  her  to  grow  old.  A per- 
son destitute  of  all  tender  feeling  is  not  apt  to  find 
old  age  attractive.  Madame  grew  more  discon- 
tented as  she  grew  older.  “ I am  dying  with 
ennui,''  she  wrote  ; “ I doze  away  existence.  I am 
too  old  to  coquet,  and  without  this  stimulant  I die. 
I am  tired  of  reading,  and  of  all  ways  of  killing 
time.  I am  tired  of  life,  and  tired  of  having  lived. 
It  is  a bore  to  grow  old.” 

Madame  Bonaparte’s  later  years  held  still  more 
disappointments  for  her.  In  1835  her  father,  upon 
his  deathbed,  threatened  to  disinherit  her  because 
of  her  “ disobedient  conduct  through  life,”  and  left 
her  of  his  large  fortune  only  a paltry  share.  Again, 
in  1860,  Prince  Jerome  dying,  made  no  mention  of 
his  first-born  sou  in  his  will,  and  though  IVIadame 
appealed  through  her  son  to  the  French  court  for 
a share  of  the  estate,  and  won  the  sympathy  of 
Europe,  she  lost  her  case.  And  still  again,  upon 
the  death  of  Napoleon  III.,  Avhen  iMadame  herself 
was  an  old,  old  lady  of  ninety  years,  there  came 
another  blow  to  her  proud,  aspiring  spirit.  She  en- 
deavored to  put  forward  the  claims  of  her  grandson 
to  the  imperial  throne,  and  failed.  That  was  the 
final  flicker  of  a restless  ambition  which  was 
doomed  to  be  forever  baffled. 

Madame  Bonaparte’s  last  days  were  passed  in  her 
native  city.  She  lived  in  a quiet  boarding-house, 
preferring  a solitary  existence  to  the  society  of  her 
relatives.  She  was  a decidedly  eccentric  old  lady, 


ELIZABETH  PATTERSON. 


175 


bright-eyed  and  sharp-tongued.  No  longer  the 
beautiful,  brilliant,  bewitching  young  Beatrice 
Esmond  of  “ Henry  Esmond,”  she  had  becotne  the 
withered,  clever,  lonely  old  Baroness  Bernstein  of 
“The  Virginians.” 

In  Madame’s  room  there  stood  a trunk  filled 
with  her  ancient  finery.  Madame  delighted  above 
all  things  to  open  this  trunk  and  bring  forth  her 
treasures  and  display  them  for  the  edification  of 
her  friends.  This,  she  would  say,  with  evident 
pride  and  pleasure,  was  her  husband’s  wedding 
coat;  this  dress  was  given  her  by  the  Princess 
Borghese  ; this  one  had  been  worn  at  the  Court  of 
Tuscany ; this  one  she  wore  at  the  Pitti  Palace 
on  the  day  she  met  her  husband ; this  she  wore 
when  presented  to  Madame  Mere.  Thus  she  would 
amuse  herself  recalling  her  past  gayeties  and 
triumphs. 

To  the  very  end  Madame  cherished,  with  some- 
thing almost  like  sentiment,  all  that  remained  of 
her  former  worldly  glory.  But  there  came  a day 
when  the  little  trunk  stood  neglected  in  its  corner, 
telling  the  story  of  a life  departed,  of  a light  that 
once  shone  radiantly  in  courts  and  palaces,  now 
gone  out  forever. 


V. 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON, 

DAUGHTER  OP  THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 


Born  at  Monticello,  Sept.  27,  1772. 
Died  at  Edgehill,  Oct.  10, 1836. 


“ As  a child  she  tvas  her  father’s  only  comforter  in  the  great 
sorrow  of  his  life,  in  maturer  years  she  was  his  intimate  friend 
and  companion  ; her  presence  lent  to  liis  home  its  greatest  charm 
and  her  love  and  sympathy  were  his  greatest  solace  in  the 
troubles  that  clouded  the  evening  of  his  life.”  — Jfiss  S.  If. 
Randolph. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  year  1784  a little  Ameri- 
can girl  found,  herself  in  the  midst  of  French  con- 
vent life  at  the  Ahbage  Royale  de  Panthemont. 
She  was  a very  unhappy  little  girl.  Not  even  the 
pretty  red  frock  which  she  wore,  with  its  red  cuffs 
and  tucker,  the  uniform  of  the  convent  school, 
could  comfort  her.  When  her  schoolmates  were 
chatting  merrily  together  in  a language  of  wliich 
she  did  not  understand  a word,  she  looked  sadly 
on  or  stole  away  to  sit  hy  herself  thinking  of  her 
beautiful  home  on  the  “little  mountain,”  of  the 
flowers  that  grew  there,  of  the  walks  through  the 
woods,  and  the  wild  horseback  rides  over  the  hills, 

176 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


177 


of  lier  vanislied  freedom,  and  most  of  all  of  her  in- 
dulgent papa,  to  whom  she  had  been  wont  to  say 
her  lessons  and  from  whom,  no  matter  how  stupid 
or  naughty  she  had  been,  she  had  received  only 
words  of  encouragement  and  love. 

The  nuns  watched  the  little  American  girl  and 
the  scholars  watched  her.  They  were  very  sorry 
for  her.  Never  before,  it  seemed  to  them,  had  they 
beheld  so  homesick  a little  mortal.  They  saw  her 
turn  away  from  them  and  weep  bitterly  many 
times  a day.  But  in  the  evening  they  noticed  a 
great  change.  Then  her  tears  were  wiped  away 
and  she  sat  by  tire  convent  window  eager  and 
expectant. 

The  reason  for  her  transformation  was  known  to 
all.  She  was  waiting  for  a gentleman,  a very  tall 
gentleman,  with  sandy  hair  and  kind  blue  eyes. 
He  came  to  see  the  little  American  every  evening, 
and  when  he  arrived  she  was  all  smiles  and  sun- 
shine. 

The  gentleman,  too,  was  happy  in  the  meeting. 
He  kissed  the  little  girl  tenderly,  asked  if  she  had 
been  a good  girl  that  day,  hoped  that  she  was 
getting  to  love  her  school  and  her  teachers  and  her 
fellow  pupils,  inquired  playfully  how  many  French 
words  she  had  learned  since  he  last  saw  her,  asked 
if  she  was  mastering  the  grammar  and  wanted  to 
know  how  many  hours  she  had  devoted  to  sewing 
and  how  many  to  music.  Then,  as  the  two  sat 
side  by  side,  he  stroked  her  hair  and  told  her  he 


178 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


was  glad  to  see  it  so  neatly  combed,  remarked  with 
satisfaction  on  the  tidiness  of  her  appearance, 
straightened  a bow  here  and  a ruffle  there,  and  de- 
clared that  he  wished  he  might  never  see  her  care- 
lessly attired,  for  no  one,  he  said,  could  ever  love  a 
slovenly  little  girl.  One  would  have  thought  to 
hear  him  talk  that  he  was  mother  as  well  as  father 
to  the  child. 

The  little  girl,  Patsy,  he  lovingly  called  her, 
listened  attentively  to  all  that  he  had  to  say.  She 
answered  his  inquiries  as  bravely  as  she  could. 
But  when  it  came  her  turn  to  question  and  remark, 
her  talk  was  not  of  the  convent  but  of  home.  She 
wanted  to  know  what  he  supposed  Aunt  Eppes 
was  doing  and  little  sister  Polly ; she  wondered  if 
the  bluebirds  and  robins  were  still  singiug  in  her 
favorite  willow  tree  and  the  redbud  and  the  dog- 
wood blossoming  in  the  meadow.  She  remarked 
that  she  thought  this  would  have  been  a fine  day 
for  a mountain  climb  or  a frolic  on  horseback  over 
the  fields,  and  she  asked  wistfully  if  he  did  wish 
that  they  might  go  away  from  France,  back  to 
dear,  beautiful  jMonticello,  never  to  leave  it  again. 

Poor  Patsy  ! Even  as  she  spoke  she  knew  that 
it  would  be  a long  Avhile  before  she  could  behold 
once  more  her  “ dear,  beautiful  Monticello.”  She 
was  learning  the  hard  lesson  which  other  dames  and 
daughters  of  our  earliest  statesmen  learned,  that  a 
man  sacrifices  his  home  and  family  when  he  de- 
votes himself  to  the  service  of  his  country.  Of 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


179 


course  slie  rejoiced  in  her  father’s  greatness.  She 
delighted  to  speak  of  him  as  “ Plenipotentiary  to 
Europe,”  and  she  always  announced  with  very 
evident  pride  the  fact  that  she  was  the  daughter 
of  Thomas  Jefferson.  But  nevertheless  she  could 
not  help  her  longings  for  a lost  happiness,  a happi- 
ness that  was  nowhere  else  but  on  top  of  the  little 
mountain,  in  the  society  of  those  who  had  their 
dwelling  there. 

When  Patsy  thought  of  the  little  mountain,  as 
she  did  many  times  a day,  she  did  not  only  recall 
it  as  the  home  from  which  she  had  just  departed. 
Her  memory  went  back  to  the  days  of  her  earliest 
childhood,  when  another  than  her  father  had  been 
the  guiding  spirit  of  Monticello.  She  remembered 
her  mother,  a beautiful,  gentle-mannered  woman, 
as  firm  as  she  was  sweet  and  gracious.  Her  word, 
Patsy  recollected,  spoken  in  low,  soft  tones,  was 
law  in  the  Jefferson  home,  and  she,  not  the  father, 
had  reproved  and  disciplined  the  children  for  their 
faults  and  blunders. 

Her  father’s  devotion  to  her  mother  was  among 
Patsy’s  most  vivid  memories.  Mrs.  Jefferson  had 
always  been  delicate  and  Mr.  Jefferson,  Patsy 
could  remember,  was  ever  mindful  of  her  health, 
shielding  her  from  drafts,  seeing  that  she  always 
had  a comfortable  chair  and  a hassock  under  her 
feet,  following  her  into  the  garden  with  shawl  and 
sunshade  and  stealing  time  from  his  affairs  of  state, 
whenever  such  a theft  was  possible,  to  walk  and 


180 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


ride  with  her  through  the  beautiful  country  that 
surrounded  their  Virginia  home. 

The  period  of  her  mother’s  death  and  of  her 
father’s  grief  was  a time  which  Patsy  dared  not 
recall,  even  to  herself.  She  was  then  only  ten 
years  old,  of  an  age  when  she  most  needed  mother 
love  and  mother  care,  but  her  own  sorrow  was 
almost  forgotten  in  the  contemplation  of  that 
greater  sorrow  which  was  before  her.  We  are 

I 

given  a glimpse  into  the  lonely  desolate  house 
where,  in  the  solitude  of  his  own  chamber,  for 
three  weeks,  a man  “ walked  incessantly  night  and 
day,  only  lying  down  occasionally  when  natui’e 
was  completely  exhausted.”  The  full  extent  of 
his  grief  was  known  to  none,  not  even  to  the  kind, 
devoted  sisters  who  stayed  with  him  and  watched 
over  him  most  tenderly.  But  Patsy  understood 
when,  one  night,  she  entered  her  father’s  room 
almost  by  stealth  and  found  liim  giving  way  to  a 
paroxysm  of  weeping.  And  in  the  days  that  fol- 
lowed, when  finally  he  left  his  room  and  rode  about 
the  mountain  on  horseback  over  the  least  frequented 
patios,  she  was  his  constant  companion,  his  one 
comforter  in  tliis,  the  greatest  sorrow  of  his  life. 
, Memories  of  the  months  that  followed  that  sad- 
dest period  in  Patsy’s  young  life  were  still  fresh 
in  her  mind.  She  recalled  very  vividly  the  time 
that  she  and  her  sisters,  pretty  little  Polly  and  the 
baby  Lucy,  had  left  IMonticello  and  gone  to  the 
home  of  one  of  their  father’s  friends  in  Chesterfield 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


181 


County,  there  to  be  inoculated  for  the  smallpox. 
Their  father  had  been  their  nurse  upon  that  try- 
ing occasion,  and  Patsy  could  well  remember  his 
gentleness  and  tenderness  with  them.  She  felt 
that  no  other  father  than  hers  could  so  well  have 
filled  a mother’s  place. 

It  was  at  that  time,  Patsy  recollected,  while  she 
and  her  sisters  were  still  undergoing  the  troubles 
of  inoculation,  that  word  came  of  her  father’s  ap- 
pointment as  Plenipotentiary  to  Europe,  to  be 
associated  with  Dr.  Franklin  and  Mr.  Adams  in 
negotiating  peace.  Of  course  Patsy  was  not  old 
enough  to  comprehend  all  that  her  father’s  new 
position  meant.  She  was  principally  occupied  with 
the  thought  that  he  was  going  to  France  and  that 
she  was  going  with  him.  And  as  she  looked  back 
upon  that  time  of  preparation  and  departure  she 
felt  that  she  could  never  forget  her  pain  at  parting 
with  her  beloved  Monticello  and  with  her  dear 
little  sisters,  who  had  to  be  left  behind  in  the  care  of 
their  Aunt  and  Uncle  EjDpes  and  in  the  congenial 
society  of  their  cousins,  the  numerons  little 
Eppeses. 

Patsy  remembered,  too,  very  distinctly,  the  long, 
tedious  journey  to  Philadelphia.  To  the  shy  little 
girl  within  the  coach,  sole  companion  of  a gentle- 
man, surrounded  and  gazed  upon  by  strange  faces, 
those  hours  of  travel  seemed  almost  interminable. 
Yet,  whatever  her  trials  and  hardships,  she  was 
Avilling  to  endure  them  rather  than  give  up  the 


182 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


pleasure  and  happiness  of  being  with  her  father. 
To  he  with  him  always  and  under  all  circumstances 
was  the  first  wish  of  her  heart. 

To  her  stay  in  Philadelphia  Patsy’s  thoughts 
reverted  with  considerable  pleasure.  She  had 
made  many  friends  there  and  enjoyed  many  good 
times.  It  was  a surprise  to  her  that  she  remained 
in  the  city  as  long  as  she  did ; but  news  received 
by  Congress  from  Europe  delayed  her  father’s 
departure  to  the  Old  World,  so,  for  a while,  she 
and  he  made  their  home  in  Philadelphia.  It  was 
Patsy’s  introduction  to  city  life.  She  was  placed 
at  a seminary  for  young  girls  under  the  care  of 
Mrs.  Hopkinson,  “ an  excellent  and  kind  lady,” 
so  tradition  describes  her.  There  Patsy  had  her 
fii-st  real  schooling.  Formerly  her  one  instructor 
had  been  her  father.  Of  couise  she  thought  none 
of  her  new  instructors  as  wise  as  he,  but  she  en- 
joyed her  school  and  loved  to  talk  to  her  father  of  the 
books  she  was  reading  and  the  tunes  she  was  play- 
ing and  of  the  progress  she  was  making  in  dancing 
and  drawing.  She  even  confided  to  him  her  feais 
arising  from  the  superstitions  of  the  time,  to  which 
he  replied  with  his  usual  sophistry : “ I hope  you 
will  have  good  sense  enough  to  disregard  those 
foolish  predictions  that  the  world  is  to  be  at  an  end 
soon,”  he  said.  “ The  Almighty  has  never  made 
known  to  anybody  at  what  time  he  created  it ; nor 
will  he  tell  anybody  when  he  'will  put  an  end  to  it, 
if  he  ever  means  to  do  it.” 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


183 


At  length  the  time  arrived  for  Patsy  to  say 
good-by  to  her  new  school  and  her  new  friends  and 
to  all  things  American.  She  and  her  father  em- 
barked for  Europe  in  the  early  summer  of  the  year 
1784.  Patsy  retained  very  pleasant  memories  of 
the  voyage  across.  She  thus  described  it  in  a letter 
to  one  of  her  Philadelphia  friends;  “We  had  a 
lovely  passage  in  a beautiful  new  ship,  that  had 
made  but  one  passage  before.  There  were  only 
six  passengers,  all  of  whom  Papa  knew,  and  a fine 
sunshine  all  the  way,  with  a sea  which  was  as  calm 
as  a river.” 

The  trip  across  the  channel  to  France,  it  would 
seem,  Patsy  did  not  find  nearly  so  enjoyable.  “ It 
rained  violently  all  the  way,”  she  wrote,  “ and  the 
sea  was  exceedingly  rough.  The  cabane  was  not 
more  than  three  feet  wide  and  about  four  feet  long. 
There  was  no  other  furniture  than  an  old  bench 
which  was  fast  to  the  wall.  The  door  by  which 
we  came  in  at  was  so  little  that  one  was  obliged  to 
enter  on  all  fours.  There  were  two  little  doors  on 
the  side  of  the  cabane.,  the  way  to  our  beds,  which 
was  composed  of  two  boxes  and  a couple  of  blankets, 
without  either  a bed  or  mattress,  so  that  I was 
obhged  to  sleep  in  my  clothes.  There  being  no 
window  in  the  cabane  we  were  obliged  to  stay  in 
the  dark,  for  fear  of  the  rain  coming  in  if  we 
opened  the  door.”  Poor  Patsy  ! If  such  were  her 
surroundings  we  do  not  wonder  that  she  was  glad 
to  emerge  from  the  darkness  and  stufiiness  of  the 


184 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


little  cabane  into  the  glad  sunshine  of  a beautiful 
morning  in  France. 

Yet  even  the  pleasant  French  weather  and  the 
pretty  French  scenery  could  not  make  Patsy  happy. 
The  strangeness  of  everything,  the  foreign  tongue, 
the  foreign  sights,  the  foreign  customs  quite  dazed 
her.  Her  father,  too,  was  a little  confused  by  that 
first  glimpse  of  France.  “We  would  have  fared 
badly,”  wrote  Patsy,  “ if  an  Irish  gentleman,  an 
entire  stranger  to  us,  seeing  our  embarrassment, 
had  not  been  so  good  as  to  conduct  us  to  a house 
and  was  of  great  service  to  us.” 

Of  the  journey  inland  to  Paris,  Patsy  declared, 
“ We  should  have  had  a very  delightful  voyage  to 
Paris,  for  Havre  de  Grace  is  built  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Seine  and  we  follow  the  river  all  the  way 
tlu’ough  the  most  beautiful  country  I ever  saw  in 
my  life,  — it  is  a perfect  garden,  — if  the  singularity 
of  our  carriage  (a  phaeton)  had  not  attracted  the 
attention  of  all  we  met ; and  whenever  we  stopped 
we  were  surrounded  by  beggars  — one  day  I 
counted  no  less  than  nine  where  we  stopped  to 
change  horses.” 

Patsy  laughed  whenever  she  recalled  the  day  of 
her  arrival  in  Paris.  She  did  not  celebrate  the 
completion  of  her  long  journey,  after  the  manner  of 
some  of  her  Piu’itan  neighhois  at  home,  with  fast- 
ing and  prayer.  But,  being  in  Paris,  the  city  of 
fashions  and  frivolities,  and  having  arrived  there  a 
dusty  and  travel- worn  httle  Avoman,  all  her  time 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


185 


and  attention  was  given  to  the  grave  matter  of 
clothes.  “We  were  obliged  to  send  immediately,” 
wrote  Patsy,  “ for  the  stay-maker,  the  mantua- 
maker,  the  milliner,  and  even  the  shoemaker  be- 
fore I could  go  out.  I never  had  the  friseur  hut 
once,  but  I soon  got  rid  of  him  and  turned  down 
my  hair  in  spite  of  all  they  could  say.” 

To  Patsy’s  troubled  mind  all  that  seemed  long 
ago  now.  Her  days  at  the  convent  had  pushed 
everything  that  had  happened  before  away  back  in 
the  distance.  After  her  first  week  in  the  Abbage 
she  felt  that  she  had  been  spending  half  of  her 
lifetime  there. 

But  very  soon  time  began  to  pass  more  quickly. 
Though  Patsy  was  at  first  so  shy  and  homesick, 
she  was  naturally  a very  happy  little  girl,  full  of 
fun  and  laughter.  It  was  impossible  for  her  to  be 
mournful  very  long.  She  gradually  became  ac- 
customed to  the  new  surroundings.  She  began  to 
speak  French,  at  first  hesitatingly  and  brokenly, 
but  with  more  and  more  fluency  as  time  went  on. 
She  also  began  to  make  friends  and  after  a while 
she  came  to  be  known  among  her  special  chums, 
the  English  girls  Julia  and  Bettie,  and  the  French 
Mademoiselles  de  Botedoux  and  De  Chateaubrun, 
as  “Jeff”  and  “ Jeffie.” 

We  catch  glimpses  of  Patsy  and  her  convent  life 
as  they  come  to  us  from  the  pages  of  her  own  let- 
ters and  the  letters  of  her  friends.  The  Abbage,  it 
seems,  was  a very  aristocratic  institution,  “ the 


186 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


best  and  most  genteel  school  in  Paris,”  records 
John  Adams’  observant  young  daughter.  The 
nuns  who  had  it  in  cliarge  “ belonged,”  we  are  told, 
“ to  the  best  families  in  Europe  and  were  born  and 
bred  ladies,”  while  “ the  pupils  Avere  from  the 
liighest  classes  of  society,  behig  the  daughters  of  the 
gentlemen  and  diplomatic  men  of  various  countries 
and  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  of  France.”  There 
at  the  Abbage  the  “ best  instruction  ” was  to  be 
had  and  “ the  best  masters  for  accomplishments  ” 
and  the  best  sort  of  fun  as  well,  wliich  latter  con- 
sideration in  the  minds  of  jMiss  Patsy  and  all  the 
other  pupils  was  as  important  as  any  other. 

Indeed  so  highly  aristocratic  was  the  Abbage 
that  no  pupil  was  admitted  there  Avithout  the  rec- 
ommendation of  a lady  of  rank.  Patsy  herself 
had  entered  on  the  good  word  of  a “ lady  friend  ” 
of  her  father’s  friend  the  iMarquis  de  la  Fayette. 
The  lady  who  spoke  the  good  Avord  became  inter- 
ested in  Patsy.  She  had  some  curiositj"  to  see  how 
her  shy  little  protegee  might  develop.  One  day  she 
went  to  pay  a visit  at  the  Abbage,  after  Patsy  had 
been  living  there  about  a year.  She  arriA’ed  when 
the  girls  were  all  at  play  in  the  garden  and  she 
sat  doAAur  beside  the  AA'mdow  to  watch  them. 
Among  the  girls  she  noted  es2Decially  a tall,  aristo- 
cratic-looking girl.  “ Who  is  that  ? ” she  asked 
with  mterest,  of  the  nun  who  sat  beside  her.  The 
nun  looked  at  the  lady  with  some  sm-prise.  “ Why, 
madame,”  she  replied,  “ that  is  your  prot4g^e. 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


187 


Mademoiselle  Jefferson.”  The  lady  smiled,  and 
nodded  her  head  in  satisfaction.  “ Oh,  hideed,” 
she  exclaimed,  “ she  has  a very  distinguished  air.” 

Thus  we  see  that  from  the  diffident  little  home- 
sick maiden  of  a year  before  Patsy  had  developed 
into  a person  of  consideration  and  importance. 
Her  life  at  the  convent  had  given  all  the  needed 
confidence  and  self-reliance.  During  that  year  she 
had  enjoyed,  too,  the  broadening  influence  that 
came  from  occasional  visits  with  her  father  and 
peeps  into  the  Parisian  world. 

We  find  mention  of  these  visits  and  peeps  in  the 
diary  of  Miss  Adams,  daughter  of  John  Adams, 
who  was  in  Paris  at  the  same  time  that  Patsy  was. 
Miss  Adams,  though  several  years  Patsy’s  senior, 
was  very  much  attracted  toward  her  little  country- 
woman and  wrote  of  her,  “ Miss  Jefferson  is  a sweet 
girl,  delicacy  and  sensibility  are  read  in  every  feat- 
ure and  her  manners  are  in  unison  with  all  that  is 
amiable  and  lovely,”  certainly  high  praise  from  a 
young  woman  of  Miss  Adams’  aristocratic  and  fas- 
tidious taste. 

The  associate  work  of  their  fathers  brought  the 
two  girls  very  often  together,  and  we  occasionally 
discover  such  entries  as  these  in  the  entertaining 
pages  of  Miss  Adams’  diary.  “ When  we  had  fin- 
ished our  business  we  went  to  Mr.  Jefferson’s 
where  I saw  Miss  J.,  a most  amiable  girl ; ” and 
again,  “To-day  we  dined  with  Mr.  Jefferson.  He 
invited  us  to  come  and  see  all  Paris  which  is  to  be 


188 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


seen  in  the  streets  to-day,  and  many  masks,  it  being 
the  last  day  but  one  of  the  Carnival.  Miss  Jeffer- 
son dined  with  us ; no  other  company.” 

It  is  in  Miss  Adams’  diary,  too,  that  we  read  an 
announcement  of  the  death  of  Patsy’s  sister  Lucy, 
the  baby  who,  with  little  Polly,  had  been  left  be- 
hind in  America  in  the  care  of  Aunt  and  Uncle 
Eppes  and  all  the  little  Eppeses.  Under  the  date 
of  Jan.  27,  1785,  Miss  Adams  records,  “ A small 
company  to  dine  to-day.  Miss  Jefferson  we  ex- 
pected, but  the  news  of  the  death  of  one  of  INIr.  J.’s 
children  in  America,  brought  by  the  iMarquis  de  la 
Fayette,  prevented.  Mr.  J.  is  a man  of  great  sen- 
sibility and  parental  affection.  His  wife  died  when 
the  child  Avas  born,  and  he  Avas  almost  in  a con- 
firmed state  of  melancholy,  confined  Irimself  from 
the  Avorld  and  even  from  his  friends  for  a long 
time  ; and  this  neAvs  has  greatly  affected  him  and 
his  daughter.” 

The  death  of  this  baby  was  indeed  an  affliction 
to  Patsy  and  her  father.  Mr.  Jefferson  became 
anxious  about  the  other  little  daughter  Avhom  he 
had  left  behind  him.  He  referred  to  her  as  “ my 
dear  little  Polly  avIio  hangs  on  my  thoughts  night 
and  day.”  He  wrote  to  Mi-s.  Eppes  to  send  her 
to  him.  But  Polly  preferred  America  to  France. 
She  sent  a letter  to  her  papa  saying  that  she  did 
not  “ Avant  to  go,”  that  she  had  “ rather  stay  ” AAfith 
Aunt  Eppes  and  Cousin  Jacky. 

Her  unwillingness  only  made  her  father  all  the 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


189 


more  eager  for  her  coming.  He  did  not  like  to 
think  that  she  was  learning  to  forget  her  papa  and 
her  sister  Patsy,  and  that  others  were  taking  their 
places  in  her  heart.  He  insisted  that  “ the  little 
lady  ” as  he  called  her,  in  spite  of  her  hopes  and 
prayers  to  remain  in  Virginia,  should  be  despatched 
to  France. 

So  Polly  was  despatched.  But  it  was  only  by 
means  of  a trick  that  she  was  gotten  from  her 
native  land.  For  several  days  she  and  her  play- 
fellow cousins  had  been  taken  for  a frolic  on  board 
a ship  that  was  lying  at  anchor  in  the  harbor. 
Finally  one  afternoon  Polly  grew  drowsy  and  fell 
asleep.  When  she  awoke  her  friends  were  gone, 
the  shore  was  out  of  sight,  and  she  and  her  maid 
were  tossing  in  the  midst  of  a scene  that  was  ^11 
blue  sky  and  blue  ocean,  conscious  that  each  roll 
was  carrying  them  further  and  further  away  from 
Cousin  Jacky  and  Aunt  Eppes  and  home.  Poor 
little  Polly  ! Her  heart  was  almost  broken. 

Polly  made  her  voyage  to  Europe  in  the  summer 
of  17^.  She  landed  in  England  and  was  met 
there  by  the  Adamses,  who  had  moved  from  Paris 
to  London.  Mrs.  Adams  took  charge  of  the  beau- 
tiful frightened  child,  and  Polly  and  the  future 
Mistress  President  became  great  friends.  Mrs. 
Adams  has  left  in  her  letters  a charming  picture  of 
Miss  Polly : “ 1 have  had  mth  me,”  she  wrote,  “ a 
little  daughter  of  Mr.  Jefferson’s,  who  arrived  here 
with  a young  negro  girl,  her  servant,  from  Virghiia. 


190 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


Mr.  Jefferson  wrote  me  some  months  ago  that  he 
expected  them  and  desired  me  to  receive  them.  I 
did  so,  and  was  amply  repaid  for  my  trouble.  A 
finer  child  of  her  age  I never  saw.  She  is  not 
eight  years  old.  She  Avould  sit  sometimes  and 
describe  to  me  the  parting  with  her  aunt,  and  the 
love  she  had  for  her  little  cousins,  till  the  tears 
would  stream  down  her  cheeks : and  how  I had 
been  her  friend  and  she  loved  me.  She  clungf 
round  me  so  that  I could  not  help  shedding  a tear 
at  parting  with  her.  She  was  the  favorite  of  every 
one  in  the  house.” 

At  length  the  time  came  for  Polly  to  join  her 
father  and  Patsy  in  France.  “ A trusty  servant,” 
so  Mr.  Jefferson  tells  us,  was  sent  to  London  to 
bring  their  little  traveller  to  them.  There  is  some- 
thing quite  pathetic  in  Mr.  Jefferson’s  story  of  her 
meeting  with  them.  So  long  a while  had  she  been 
parted  from  them  that  when  she  fii’st  saw  them,  as 
Mr.  Jefferson  declared,  “ she  neither  knew  us  nor 
should  we  have  known  her  had  we  met  with  her 
unexpectedly.” 

Her  father’s  and  her  sister’s  love,  however,  soon 
Avon  little  Polly’s  heart  and  made  her  feel  at  home 
AAuth  them.  Patsy  Avould  not  allow  her  to  be  lonely 
and  left  the  convent  for  a time  to  devote  hemelf  to 
her.  Mr.  Jefferson  tells  of  how  Patsy  “ came  and 
staid  a week  with  Polly  leading  her  from  time  to 
time  to  the  convent  until  she  became  familiarized 
to  it.”  And  he  adds,  “ She  (Polly)  is  now  estalv 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


191 


lishecl  in  tlie  convent  perfectly  happy,  a universal 
favorite  with  all  the  young  ladies  and  the  mis- 
tresses.” 

Of  Patsy  herself,  in  the  same  letter,  which  was 
written  to  Mrs.  Eppes,  Mr.  Jefferson  remarks 
“ Patsy  enjoys  good  health.  She  has  grown  much 
the  last  year  or  two  and  will  be  very  tall.  She  re- 
tains all  her  anxiety  to  get  hack  to  her  country  and 
her  friends,  particularly  yourself.  Her  dispositions 
give  me  perfect  satisfaction  and  her  progress  is 
well.” 

The  letters  that  passed  between  Patsy  and  her 
father  at  this  period  are  very  interesting.  They 
show  what  a happy  comradeship  existed  between 
the  two.  She  talks  to  him  of  her  school  life  and 
lessons : he  advises  and  comforts  her  in  all  her 
schoolgirl  difficulties.  And  throughout  their 
correspondence  there  bi’eathes  always  an  affec- 
tion that  was  to  both  of  them  the  chief  blessing  of 
life. 

“ Nobody  in  this  world,”  he  tells  her,  “ can  make 
me  so  happy  or  so  miserable  as  you.  To  your 
sister  and  yourself  I look  to  render  the  evening  of 
my  life  serene  and  contented.  Its  morning  has 
been  clouded  by  loss  after  loss  till  I have  nothing 
left  hut  you.  My  expectations  of  you  are  higli, 
yet  not  higher  than  you  may  attain.  I do  not 
doubt  either  your  affections  or  your  dispositions. 
Industry  and  resolution  only  are  wanting.  Be  in- 
dustrious, then,  my  dear  child.  Think  nothing  un- 


192 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


surmountable  by  resolution  and  application  and  you 
will  be  all  that  I wish  you  to  be.” 

And  Patsy  answers  Avith  a determination  that 
shows  how  eager  she  was  to  be  all  that  her  father 
“wished  her  to  be.”  “You  say  5mur  expectations 
of  me  are  high,”  she  writes,  “ yet  not  liigher  than  I 
can  attain.  Then  be  assured,  my  dear  papa,  that 
you  shall  be  satisfied  in  that,  as  well  as  in  any- 
thing else  that  lies  in  my  poAA* er ; for  what  I hold 
most  precious  is  your  satisfaction,  indeed  I should 
be  miserable  without  it.” 

With  tlfis  thought  always  in  rniud,  that  she  must 
fulfil  her  father’s  hopes  of  her,  Patsy  gave  her  at- 
tention to  her  stiulies.  She  reported  her  progress 
in  them  to  her  father  with  a frankness  and  artless- 
ness that  proved  her  to  be  a child  as  well  as  an 
ambitious  little  woman.  “ I ha^m  begun  a beauti- 
ful tune  with  Baltastre,”  she  wrote,  “ done  a very 
pretty  landscape  with  Pariseau — a little  man  play- 
ing on  a violin  — and  begun  another  beautiful 
landscape.” 

Her  Latin  seems  to  have  been  her  one  stumbling- 
block.  “ I go  on  slowly  with  my  Tite  Live  (Livy).” 
she  confessed ; “ it  being  in  such  ancient  Italian 
that  I cannot  read  without  my  master  and  veiy  lit- 
tle with  Inm  even ; ” and  again,  still  struggling 
Avith  her  Livy,  she  Avrote,  “ Titus  LiA'ius  puts  me 
out  of  my  AAdts.  I cannot  read  a word  by  myself, 
and  I read  of  it  Amry  seldom  with  my  master.” 

Her  father  could  not  endure  to  haA'e  her  fail  in 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


193 


tlie  accomplishment  of  anything.  He  besought  her 
to  get  the  better  of  her  Latin  and  argued  with  her 
in  his  usual  logical  and  persuasive  fashion.  “ I do 
not  like  your  saying  that  you  are  unable  to  read 
the  ancient  print  of  your  Livy  hut  with  the  aid  of 
your  master,”  he  declared.  “ We  are  always  equal  to 
what  we  undertake  with  resolution.  It  is  a part  of 
the  American  character  to  surmount  every  difficulty 
by  resolution  and  contrivance.  In  Europe  there  are 
shops  for  every  want;  its  inhabitants,  therefore, 
have  no  idea  that  their  Avants  can  be  supplied  oth- 
erwise. ■ Remote  from  all  other  aid  we  are  obliged 
to  invent  and  to  execute ; to  find  means  Avithin 
ourselves  and  not  to  lean  on  others.  Consider, 
therefore,  the  conquering  of  your  Livy  as  au  exer- 
cise in  the  habit  of  surmounting  difficulties,  a habit 
winch  will  be  very  necessary  to  you  in  the  country 
where  you  are  to  live.” 

It  Avas  in  this  Avay,  never  hesitating  to  give  the 
why  and  wherefore  of  a case  Avhen  it  was  needed, 
that  Jefferson  directed  his  daughter  in  the  pursuits 
and  the  conduct  of  her  life.  “ The  object  most  in- 
teresting to  me  for  the  residue  of  my  life,”  he  told 
her,  “ Avill  be  to  see  you  developing  daily  those 
principles  of  virtue  and  goodness  Avhich  Avill  make 
you  valuable  to  others  and  happy  in  yourself,  and 
acquiring  those  talents  and  that  degree  of  sci- 
ence which  will  guard  you  at  all  times  against  en- 
nui, the  most  dangerous  poison  of  life.  A mind 
always  employed  is  always  happy.  This  is  the 


194 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


true  secret,  tlie  grand  receipt  for  felicity.  Be  good 
and  industrious  and  you  will  be  what  I most  love 
in  tire  world.” 

Such  words  as  these,  not  disagreeable  “ preachy  ” 
words,  but  wise,  kind,  fatherly  Avords,  are  con- 
stantly appearing  in  Jefferson’s  letters  to  his 
daughter,  and  as  Ave  read  them  Ave  do  not  Avonder 
that  Patsy  considered  them  the  chief  incenth^e  to 
success  amid  the  trials  and  difficulties  of  school- 
girl life.  They  used  always  to  fill  her  Avith  fi’esh 
courage  and  determination.  “ I am  not  so  Indus- 

O 

trious  as  you  or  I would  Avish,”  she  Avould  answer, 
“ but  I hope  that  in  taldng  pains  I A^ery  soon  shall 
be.  I have  already  begun  to  stud}^  more.  I am 
learning  a very  pretty  thing  iioaa'  (on  the  hai-psi- 
chord).  I have  draAvn  seAmral  little  floAvei’s  all 
alone  that  the  master  even  has  not  seen.  I shall 
take  up  my  Livy,  as  you  desire  it.  I shall  hegin 
it  again  as  I have  lost  the  tlmead  of  the  history.” 

Yet,  in  spite  of  good  intentions  and  brave  effoids, 
Patsy  did  not  conquer  all  things.  She  Avas  too 
human  not  to  fail  occasionally.  Though  she  Avon 
an  easy  victory  over  all  her  other  studies,  LiAy 
remained  a most  iiiAuncible  advereary.  “ I have 
learnt  several  new  pieces  on  the  harpsichord,”  she 
Avrote,  “ tb’aAvn  fiA^e  landscapes  and  three  floAvei-s, 
and  hope  to  have  done  something  more  by  the  time 
you  come.  I go  on  pretty  well  with  my  history. 
But  as  for  Tite  Live  I haA^e  begun  it  three  or  four 
times  and  go  on  so  slowly  AA’ith  it  that  I belieA'e  I 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


195 


never  shall  finish  it.  It  was  in  vain  that  I took 
courage  ; it  serves  to  little  good  in  a thing  almost 
impossible.  I read  a little  of  it  Avith  my  master 
Avho  tells  me  almost  all  the  words  and,  in  fine,  it 
makes  me  lose  my  time.” 

The  period  was  draAving  near  when  Livy,  and 
Avith  him  all  the  other  study  hoolcs,  were  to  be  dis- 
carded and  laid  upon  the  shelf.  Patsy’s  last  year 
at  the  convent  arrived.  She  became  an  important, 
privileged  person.  She  dined  at  the  Abbess’  table, 
she  helped  to  entertain  the  guests  of  the  convent, 
and  she  received  instruction  in  all  the  fiue  points 
of  etiquette  which  she  Avould  need  Avhen,  a year 
later,  a well  informed  and  accomplished  debutante, 
she  Avas  to  enter  the  gay  society  of  Paris. 

Yet  even  Avhile  Patsy  Avas  being  prepared  for 
the  momentous  step  that  Avas  to  carry  her  out  of  the 
quiet  shadoAvs  of  the  coiwent  into  the  brilliant 
light  of  the  Parisian  Avorld,  she  Avas  dreaming  of  a 
life  very  different  from  that  which  her  father  and 
friends  Avere  planning  for  her.  She  was  a young 
girl,  warm-hearted,  impulsive,  and  impressionable. 
She  loved  the  nuns  Avho  had  been  her  guardians  and 
friends  for  so  many  years  and  she  thought  that  she 
would  like  to  be  as  one  of  them,  living  ahvays  in 
an  atmosphere  of  pure  thoughts  and  self-sacrificing 
deeds.  During  her  leisure  moments  she  Avas  often 
to  be  seen  walking  and  talldng  with  the  nuns  and 
with  the  Ahb(i  EdgCAvorth  de  Fermont,  he  avIio  at  a 
later  day  was  to  accompany  the  unfortunate  Louis 


196 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


tlie  Sixteenth,  as  his  last  confessor,  to  the  guillo- 
tine. The  Catholic  religion  as  interpreted  these 
good  people  seemed  to  the  young  Protestant  better 
and  timer  than  her  o^vn,  and  one  day,  with  the  spirit 
of  their  words  upon  her,  she  wrote  to  her  father, 
from  whom  she  had  no  secret,  telling  the  storj^  of 
her  change  of  faith  and  expressing  the  wish  that 
she  might  he  a nun. 

Mr.  Jefferson  did  not  answer  Patsy  by  letter. 
He  acted  upon  the  occasion  with  liis  usual  sensible- 
ness and  tact.  After  waiting  a day  or  two  he  drove 
to  the  convent,  had  a private  interview  with  the 
Abbess,  and  then  asked  to  see  his  daughters. 
When  Patsy  and  Polly  came  into  the  room  he 
greeted  them  with  more  than  the  usual  warmth  of 
affection,  and  told  them  that  he  had  come  to  take 
them  away  from  school.  He  was  tired  of  living 
alone,  he  said,  and  he  wanted  his  daughters  at  home 
with  him. 

So  Patsy  and  Polly  said  good-hy  to  the  convent 
and  drove  away  with  their  father.  It  is  needless 
to  state  that  Patsy  did  not  refer  to  her  letter.  She 
had  read  her  father’s  answer  to  it  in  Iris  face.  At 
his  request"  she  let  herself  he  carried  into  the  gay 
whirl  of  Parisian  society,  and  lier  new  rehgious 
convictions  and  her  dreams  of  a rosary  and  a soli- 
tary cell  were  soon  forgotten  in  the  healthy  girhsh 
enjoyment  of  finery,  balls,  and  beaux. 

Patsy  was  sixteen  when  she  entered  the  world  of 
Paris,  and  was  introduced  into  the  brilliant  court 


PATSY  AND  POLLY  CAME  INTO  THE  ROOM 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


197 


of  Louis  the  Sixteenth.  In  spite  of  her  youth  and 
her  modest,  retiring  disposition,  she  was  considered 
a remarkable  young  woman.  She  did  credit  to  the 
excellent  education  which  she  had  received.  She 
Avas  found  to  be  a good  linguist,  an  accomplished 
musician,  and  one  well  versed  in  matters  literary 
and  historical.  She  was  not  beautiful  (and  per- 
haps it  is  a relief  to  posterity  to  learn  that  she  was 
not,  after  hearing  of  so  many  dames  and  daughters 
of  a bygone  day  whose  wondrous  fairness  is  for- 
ever being  told  in  story  and  rehearsed  in  song). 
She  is  reputed  to  have  been  “tall  and  stately,”  and 
to  have  had  an  interesting  rather  than  a pretty  face. 
It  was  not  so  much  for  harmony  of  form  and  feat- 
ure, but  it  was  for  the  charm  of  her  conversation 
and  mamier,  for  the  amiability  of  her  disposition, 
and  for  the  sweet  unselfishness  of  her  character 
that  she  was  universally  admired. 

Hints  of  Miss  Patsy’s  good  times  and  of  the  in- 
teresting people  mth  whom  she  met,  Avhen  she  Avas 
a debutante  in  the  Paris  Avorld,  have  come  doAAm  to 
us.  We  read  of  her  pleasant  acquaintance  with  the 
English  ladies  of  Tufton,  who  sometimes  acted  as 
her  chaperones,  and  with  the  duke  of  Dorset  and 
his  nieces ; of  her  friendship  Avith  the  gay  and  gal- 
lant Marquis  de  la  Fayette,  who  never  chanced  to 
meet  the  daughter  of  Thomas  Jeffei’son  Avithout 
pausing  to  exchange  a feAV  merry  words  AAuth  her; 
and  of  her  enthusiastic  admiration  for  Madame  de 
Stael,  whom  she  saw  very  often  in  society,  and  to 


198 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


whose  wonderful  conversation  she  listened  atten- 
tively from  a respectful  distance. 

We  are  told  that  Patsy  was  allowed  to  go  to 
three  balls  a week  but  never  to  a fourth,  no  matter 
how  “ tempting  ” that  fourth  might  be ; her  father 
was  not  willing  to  have  her  sacrifice  her  health  to 
the  frivolities  of  the  French  capital ; and  we  dis- 
cover that  upon  one  occasion  she  dauced  eight 
times  with  one  of  the  Polignac  family  and  upon 
another  occasion  was  complimented  on  her  steps 
by  the  Duke  de  Fronsac,  afterwards  to  be  known 
as  Duke  de  Richelieu. 

We  learn  that  Patsy  made  the  acquaintance  of 
the  celebrated  Georgiana,  duchess  of  Devonshire, 
and  that  at  a certain  dinner  party,  where  she  and 
the  duchess  were  guests,  the  beautiful  Georgiana 
smiled  upon  her  in  the  height  of  her  stature  and 
exclaimed,  “It  gives  me  great  pleasure.  Miss  Jeff- 
erson, to  see  any  one  as  tall  as  myself.” 

At  the  time  of  Pats3’’s  debutanteship  the  mur- 
murings  of  the  Revolution  had  already  begun. 
She  was  in  Paris  when  the  king  Avas  brought  from 
Versailles.  The  whole  population  of  the  city  had 
turned  out  into  the  streets  and  such  an  uproar  of 
excitement  Patsy  never  before  remembered  to  liaAm 
heard.  She  and  some  of  her  young  friends  looked 
down  upon  the  crowd  from  a broad  window  and 
watched  the  procession  that  was  escorting  the  king 
to  his  captiAdt}--.  As  the  Idng’s  coach  was  passing 
under  their  window  Patsy  and  her  companions  rec- 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


199 


ognized  an  acquaintance  in  one  of  the  king’s 
chamberlains,  and  the  young  chamberlain  looked 
up  and  saluted  the  vision  of  fluttering  handker- 
cliiefs  and  smihng  faces  in  the  window  above  him. 

The  king’s  coach  passed  by  and  then  came  more 
cheering  and  renewed  shouts.  The  noise,  we  are 
told,  was  like  “ the  bellowing  of  a thousand  bulls.” 
It  came  nearer  and  nearer  and  was  taken  up  by 
those  around  her,  and  Patsy  at  length  distinguished 
the  cry  “La  Fayette!  La  Fayette!”  In  a burst 
of  enthusiasm  she  leaned  far  out  of  the  window  as 
a gentleman  in  a plain  frock  coat  came  riding  care- 
lessly by.  The  gentleman  raised  his  eyes  and  met 
the  eager  gaze  of  Thomas  Jefferson’s  “ little  girl” 
and  with  a friendly  smile  of  recognition  he  lifted 
his  hat  to  her  as  he  passed  on.  Immediately 
Patsy’s  young  friends  crowded  about  her,  express- 
ing their  envy  of  her,  and  Patsy  herself  declared 
that  never  before  had  she  been  so  proud  of  a how. 

Upon  another  occasion  in  this  period  of  revolu- 
tionary beginnings,  just  after  the  French  ofiicers 
had  assumed  the  tricolored  cockade,  Patsy  was  at 
a party  in  one  of  the  country  residences  near  Paris. 
There  were  a number  of  French  officers  present 
and  the  talk  even  in  the  midst  of  dancing  and  flir- 
tation turned  upon  liberty  and  democracy.  We 
may  imagine  that  Miss  Patsy,  who  had  inherited 
her  father’s  broad  ideas,  had  much  to  say  on  both 
these  subjects.  In  the  course  of  the  conversation 
it  was  proposed  that  the  officer’s  should  transfer 


200 


MA  R Til  A JEFFER  SON. 


their  cockades  to  the  ladies.  The  suggestion  met 
with  universal  approval.  So  the  cockades  were 
transferred  and  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening 

O 

the  French  tricolor  shone  resplendent  on  the  ladies’ 
pretty  ball  gowns.  Patsy’s  tricolor  was  treasured 
by  her  always  and  its  history  was  never  told  until, 
yeai-s  after,  it  was  discovered,  lying  among  some 
other  precious  keepsakes,  by  one  of  Patsy’s  own 
daughters. 

Patsy,  of  coui-se,  had  numerous  admirers  among 
the  French  officei’S  whom  she  met  at  balls  and 
parties.  It  was  hinted  that  several  efforts  had 
been  made  to  keep  her  always  on  the  French  side 
of  the  Atlantic.  But  Patsy  loved  her  home  and 
her  father  and  sister  too  dearly  to  think  of  resign- 
ing them  for  the  sake  of  any  gallant  of  King  Louis’ 
court,  however  charming.  IMoreover  she  knew 
that  in  her  oum  country  there  was  waiting  for  her 
some  one  infinitely  superior  to  any  one  whom  she 
might  meet  abroad. 

Along  Avith  iier  many  happy  memories  of  the  old 
days  at  iMonticello  Patsy  retained  a very  viA'id 
recollection  of  Tom  Randolph.  He  was  her  second 
cousm  and  her  playfellow  as  well.  He  had  always 
been  a big,  strong,  kind-hearted  chap,  and,  during 
his  numerous  Ausits  to  the  “ little  mountain,”  had 
Avon  Patsy’s  heart  by  his  skill  in  all  things  and  liis 
kindness  toAvards  herself.  Cousin  Tom,  she  had 
discovered,  could  do  everything  from  riding  her 
father’s  AAulclest  colt  to  pronouncing  the  most  diffi- 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


201 


cult  words  in  her  own  little  primer.  And,  what 
she  most  admired  in  him,  he  was  not  a tease  like 
other  hoys,  but  was  very  gallant  and  used  often  to 
take  her  for  a ride  with  him  through  the  woods 
and  meadows  about  her  home  or  draw  his  chair 
beside  her  of  an  evening  after  the  candles  were 
brought  in  and  help  her  with  her  troublesome 
lessons. 

Patsy  had  not  seen  her  Cousin  Tom  since  the 
days  of  their  pleasant  girl  and  boy  friendship  in  old 
Virginia  until,  a short  time  after  she  left  the  con- 
vent, she  and  her  father  were  surprised  one  evening 
to  receive  a call  from  a tall,  athletic-looking  young 
man  who  introduced  himself  to  them  as  Thomas 
Randolph.  He  came  to  them  fresh  from  his  four 
years  of  study  at  Edinburgh  University,  where  he 
had  distinguished  himself  as  a student  of  the  first 
rank  and  a man  of  brilliant  promise.  He  was  about 
to  return  to  America,  he  said,  but  he  could  not  go 
without  stopping  to  see  his  distinguished  kinsman 
Thomas  Jeffeison  and  his  old-tmie  j^layfellow  Patsy. 

Mr.  Randolph’s  stay  in  Paris  was  necessarily 
short,  but  in  the  few  weeks  that  they  enjoyed  to- 
gether Miss  Patsy  and  he  learned  to  know  and  like 
each  other  better  than  ever  before.  And  perhaps 
it  was  Cousin  Tom  quite  as  much  as  Papa  Jeiferson 
who  influenced  Patsy  to  abandon  all  thoughts  of  a 
nunnery  and  remain  in  a selfish,  naughty,  but  very 
happy  Avoiid  where  slie  might  choose  as  her  voca- 
tion that  of  loving  and  being  loved. 


202 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


Cousin  Tom  had  returned  to  America  but  Patsy 
still  lingered  in  the  midst  of  the  gayeties  of  the 
French  capital.  She  and  her  father  and  Polly,  in 
spite  of  the  interesting  and  exciting  life  wliich  they 
led  there,  were  longing  for  home,  and  it  was  Tsdth 
great  joy  that  they  received  news  of  Jefferson’s 
long-hoped-for  leave  of  absence  from  Congress. 
Very  soon  after  the  receipt  of  this  news,  in  the 
autumn  of  the  year  1789,  five  years  after  that 
autumn  which  had  found  Patsy  a lonely,  homesick 
little  girl  in  the  Abbage  Royale  de  Panthemont, 
they  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  their  friends  in 
Paris  and  set  sail  for  America.  After  a fairly  com- 
fortable passage  of  thirty  days  they  arrived  safely 
and  happily  on  the  shores  of  their  own  country. 

They  landed  in  Norfolk,  and  the  journey  from 
Norfolk  to  Monticello  was  taken  in  easy  stages, 
stopping  at  the  houses  of  relatives  and  friends  along 
the  way,  where  they  Avere  Avarmly  welcomed  and 
hospitably  entertained  by  those  from  whom  they 
had  so  long  been  parted. 

i\Ir.  Jefferson’s  slaA^es  had  been  notified  of  the 
family’s  approaching  return  and  the  day  of  the  ar- 
riAml  was  gi\"en  to  them  as  a holiday.  They  Avalked 
down  the  mountain  to  ShadAA^ell,  Avhich  was  four 
miles  distant,  to  meet  their  master  and  young 
“ misses,”  and  when, at  last  they  caught  sight  of  the 
coach  and  four  the  air  rang  AA'ith  their  enthusiastic 
o-reetinor.  The  horses  AA'ere  “ unhitched,”  AA'e  are 

C)  C) 

told,  and  the  delighted  crowd  drew  their  master’s 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


203 


carriage  up  the  mountain  to  the  doorway  of  his 
home. 

Great  was  the  surprise  and  admiration  of  the  de- 
voted negroes  when  Patsy  and  Polly  stepped  out  of 
the  coach.  The  girls  had  left  little  children  and 
had  returned,  Patsy  in  the  dignity  of  her  seventeen 
years  and  high  stature,  and  Polly  in  her  eleventh 
year,  more  beautiful  and  lovable  than  ever  before. 
“ God  bless  you’s  ” and  “ Look  at  the  chilluns  ” 
were  the  expressions  on  all  sides,  and  “ Ain’t  our 
Miss  Patsy  tall  ? ” and  “ Our  dear  little  Polly,  bless 
her  soul.”  It  was  a home-coming  such  as  made  the 
hearts  of  the  young  “ misses  ” thrill  more  and  more 
with  love  for  old  Virginia. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  the  delight  that  they  all  ex- 
perienced at  being  once  more  in  their  own  land, 
among  their  own  people,  and  in  the  midst  of  their 
own  beautiful  hills  and  meadows,  there  was  in  their 
home-coming  a certain  feeling  of  loss  and  regret. 
Patsy  had  to  confess  that  most  of  the  people  who 
lived  in  the  vicinity  of  the  “ little  mountain  ” were 
stupid  and  “ poky,”  and  that  the  life  which  many 
of  her  neighbors  led  was  very  primitive,  almost 
“barbarous  ” in  its  extreme  simplicity  and  its  ab- 
sence of  all  amusement  and  excitement.  She  missed 
the  gay  scenes  and  the  brilliant  company  that  she 
had  enjoyed  in  Paris  and  the  change  from  the  me- 
tropolis of  the  world  to  the  quiet  uneventful  life 
about  her  was  at  first  very  hard. 

However,  it  was  not  ordained  that  Patsy  was  to 


204 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


spend  much  time  or  thought  in  repining  for  lost 
benefits.  During  the  months  that  followed  her 
return,  Mr.  Thomas  Mann  Randolph,  of  Tuckahoe, 
was  a constant  visitor  at  Monticello  and  on  the  23d 
of  February,  1790,  Miss  Patsy  and  her  cousin  Tom 
were  married.  Patsy  became  a wife  and  in  the 
novelty  and  congeniality  of  a happy  married  life  she 
was  able  to  forget  any  longings  that  she  may  have 
cherished  for  a society  and  existence  that  liad  passed 
beyond  her  reach. 

Patsy’s  days  were  full  of  sweet  content.  She 
was  happy  in  her  husband,  a man,  so  Jefferson  in- 
forms us,  of  “ science,  sense,  virtue,  and  compe- 
tence,” with  whom  she  read  and  studied  and  led 
an  “ideal  family  life.”  She  was  happy  in  her 
father,  whom  she  saw  honored  and  beloved  by  liis 
countrymen,  raised  from  one  high  position  to  an- 
other until  at  last  he  stood  in  the  forefront  of  a 
nation.  She  was  happy  in  her  sister,  little  PoRy  or 
Maria,  as  she  came  to  be  called,  who  grew  up  a 
timid,  affectionate,  and  veiy  beautiful  woman  with 
regular  features  and  “ glorious  ” auburn  hair,  and 
who  married  Jacky  Eppes,  the  favorite  cousin,  for 
whom  in  her  childhood  she  had  grieved  so  piteously 
when  the  hateful  sliip  bore  her  away. 

One  loves  to  read  of  Patsy  as  a wife  and  daughter 
and  sister.  She  was  so  full  of  pride  and  love  and 
devotion  for  those  who  were  dear  to  her.  But  per- 
haps it  is  as  a mother  more  tlian  in  any  other  re- 
lationship that  the  sweet  unselfishness  of  her 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


205 


character  shines  forth  with  most  charm.  Her  home 
at  Edgehill,  the  Randolph  estate,  from  which  in 
winter  when  the  trees  were  bare,  she  could  see  the 
glimmer  of  the  white  columns  of  the  portico  at 
Monticello,  was  inhabited  by  a host  of  little 
people,  twelve  in  all,  five  sons  and  seven  daughters, 
of  various  dispositions  and  acquirements,  hut  all 
equally  interesting  and  lovable  in  their  mother’s 
eyes.  There  was  Anne,  the  eldest,  the  fair-haired 
little  darling,  of  whom  in  her  babyhood  her  grandpa 
declared  “ even  Socrates  might  ride  on  a stick  with 
her  without  being  ridiculous,” — she  grew  up  a 
beautiful,  much  admired  woman  and  married  when 
she  was  quite  young  a Mr.  Blankhead ; there  was 
Jefferson,  the  “heavy-seeming”  small  boy  who  be- 
came “the  man  of  judgment,”  the  “staff”  of  his 
grandfather’s  old  age ; and  there  was  Ellen,  the 
bright  little  scholar,  who  developed  into  an  intelli- 
gent and  delightful  woman  and  married  Mr.  Cool- 
idge  of  Boston  ; then  there  were  Cornelia  and  Vir- 
ginia and  Mary,  all  dear  little  girls  who  made  very 
attractive  and  cultivated  women ; and  there  was  an- 
other daughter  who  did  not  live  to  grow  up,  and 
James  Madison,  the  baby  of  the  White  House, 
named  after  the  revered  statesman  friend  of  all  the 
little  Randolphs  and  their  grandpapa ; there  was 
Benjamin,  the  practical  and  energetic,  and  Lewis, 
who  became  a brilliant  lawyer,  handsome,  graceful, 
and  winning,  full  of  life  and  talents,  a most  charming 
member  of  the  home  circle ; and  lastly  there  were 


206 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


the  babies,  Septima,  so  called  because  she  was  the 
seventh  daughter,  an  uiistudious,  naughty,  merry 
little  child,  and  George,  the  brave  sailor  boy  whose 
affection  for  his  mother  was  the  “ passion  ” of  his 
life. 

With  all  her  children  IMrs.  Randolph  was  “ gentle 
but  firm.”  She  never  spoke  har.shly  to  them,  but 
the  little  Randolphs  understood  that  when 
“ Mamma  ” said  a thing  she  meant  it  and  that  the 
only  course  for  them  was  to  do  exactly  as  she  said. 
Mrs.  Randolph  was  the  only  instructor  her  daugh- 
ters (with  the.  exception  of  little  Septima)  ever  had 
and  few  women  of  their  time  were  better  educated 
than  the  Misses  Randolph.  Every  day  she  talked 
French  with  them  and  gave  them  her  own  broad 
views  of  history  and  literature.  She  taught  all  her 
clfildren,  both  sons  and  daughters,  to  love  music 
and  recommended  it  to  them  “ not  so  much  as  an 
accomplishment  as  a resource  in  solitude  ; ” and 
perhaps  the  pleasantest  picture  we  have  of  Pats}" 
as  a mother  is  that  in  which  we  see  her  seated  at 
her  harpsichord  with  her  childi’en  all  about  her, 
playing  and  singing  to  them  in  the  quiet  twilight. 

The  most  enjoyable  times  for  Patsy  and  her 
children  were  the  jolly  vacation  months  when,  with 
the  coming  of  summer.  President  Jefferson  retired 
from  Washington  and  his  affaffs  of  state,  and  stop- 
ping at  Edgehill,  picked  up  the  whole  Randolph 
family  and  carried  them  all  off  with  Ifim  to  IMonti- 
cello.  There,  on  the  summit  of  the  little  mountain. 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


207 


with  its  broad  sweeps  of  vision,  and  the  wild  free- 
dom of  its  breezes,  was  an  ideal  playground.  The 
lawns  and  terraces  aboxit  the  house  became  the 
children’s  racecourse,  and  great  was  the  fun  when 
grandpapa  arranged  the  young  folks  all  in  a row, 
giving  the  smallest  one  “ a good  start  ” by  several 
yards,  and  with  a “ one,  two,  three  — go  ! ” and  a 
dropping  of  the  white  handkerchief,  sent  them  all 
off  on  a run,  and  awarded  the  victor  with  a prize  of 
three  figs.  The  flowers  became  the  children’s 
playfellows.  Their  grandfather  taught  them  to 
love  and  respect  the  pretty  blossoms,  never  to 
handle  them  roughly,  or  to  disturb  them  in  their 
comfortable  beds.  And  in  order  to  impress  the 
children  with  the  dignity  of  their  floral  acquaint- 
ances, he  gave  the  flowers  real  names,  and  very 
amusing  it  was  to  hear  the  little  people  calling  out 
in  great  glee,  “ Come,  Grandpa ! Come,  Marcus 
Aurelius  has  his  head  out  of  ground.”  “ The 
Queen  of  the  Amazons  is  coming  up.” 

At  Monticello  the  out-of-door  world  was  cer- 
tainly a joyous  one,  and  so  too  was  the  world 
within  doors.  There  the  enjoyments  were  romps 
in  the  hall,  and  school  in  the  splendid  billiard  room. 
But  the  best  indoor  times  came  on  cool  evenings, 
in  the  half  hour  of  twilight  before  the  candles  were 
brought  in,  when  the  children  all  gathered  with 
their  mother  and  grandfather  round  the  fire,  and 
engaged  in  such  games  as  “Cross  Questions,” 
and  “ I love  my  love  with  an  O.”  It  was  pleasant. 


208 


MA R TEA  JEFFER SON. 


too,  though  almost  too  quiet  for  the  restless  spirits 
later  in  the  evening,  when  the  candles  arrived  and 
grandfather  retired  to  his  book,  and  all  the  children 
followed  his  example  and  retired  to  their  books ; 
then  often,  in  that  hour  of  literary  calm,  grand- 
father would  raise  his  eyes  from  liis  own  book  and 
look  around  on  the  little  circle  of  readers  and  smile, 
and  make  some  remark  to  mamma  about  her  “stu- 
dious sons  and  daughters.” 

It  was  a happy  home  life  that  was  lived  at  IMonti- 
cello.  But,  unfortunately,  it  was  forever  being  in- 
terrupted and  disturbed ; there  was  companj’,  more 
company,  always  com^rany  at  IMonticello.  Hospi- 
table as  Jefferson  and  his  daughter  both  were,  they 
could  not  help  giving  way  to  an  occasional  murmur 
over  their  interminable  list  of  visitors.  IMis.  Ran- 
dolph complains  of  being  “ always  in  a crowd,  taken 
from  every  pleasing  duty  to  be  worried  with  a mul- 
tiplicity of  disagreeable  ones,  which  the  entertain- 
ing of  such  crowds  of  company  subjects  one  to;” 
and  Jefferson  declares  that  he  “parrts  for  that  so- 
ciety where  all  is  peace  aird  harmony,  where  we 
love  arrd  are  beloved  by  every  object  we  see ; to 
have  that  irrtercourse  of  soft  affectiorrs  crirshed  and 
sirppressed  by  the  eternal  presence  of  strangers  goes 
very  hard  indeed,  arrd  the  harder  as  we  see  that  the 
candle  of  life  is  burrring  out,  so  that  the  pleasures 
we  lose  are  lost  forever.” 

A great  irrterruption  to  the  domestic  “ peace  and 
harmony  ” of  the  Morrticello  home  life,  even  a 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


209 


greater  interruption  than  the  eternal  presenee  of 
visitors,  was  the  public  career  of  the  head  of  the 
family.  Jefferson’s  term  of  service  to  his  country 
was  a long  one,  and  during  most  of  it  he  lived  away 
from  home,  alone,  without  the  cheering  society  of 
his  daughters  and  grandchildren.  Family  and 
household  matters  kept  Mesdames  Patsy  and  Polly 
away  from  their  father  in  his  public  office.  While 
he  was  at  Philadelphia  and  Washington  officiating 
first  as  Secretary  of  State,  and  later  as  President, 
he  was  obliged  to  call  on  outsiders  to  preside  at  his 
table  and  do  the  honors  of  his  home.  It  was  not 
until  the  winter  of  1802-3  that  the  busy  young 
housewives  were  able  to  make  the  long  promised 
visit  to  tho  White  House,  and  bring  to  the  Presi- 
dential Mansion  the  genial  homelike  atmosphere 
that  always  hovered  about  Monticello. 

From  the  obscurity  of  their  Virginia  homes  the 
two  sisters  came  and  took  by  storm  the  capital  of 
the  nation.  For  the  first  time,  since  their  girlhood 
days  in  Paris,  and  the  court  of  Louis  XVI.,  they 
beoame  a part  of  the  gay  world.  They  went 
through  the  usual  round  of  balls,  parties,  and  din- 
ners, and  enjoyed  themselves  exceedingly. 

In  after  years  Mrs.  Madison  delighted  to  de- 
scribe the  impression  made  by  these  two  daughters 
of  President  Jefferson  upon  the  society  of  Wash- 
ington. Mrs.  Eppes,  she  said,  captivated  all  by  her 
loveliness  and  grace,  and  Mrs.  Randolph  by  the 
charm  of  her  manner  and  conversation  drew  about 


210 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


her,  wherever  she  went,  a circle  of  interested  and 
admiring  listeners. 

It  was  very  pretty,  too,  so  we  are  told,  to  see 
the  adoration  of  each  sister  for  the  other.  Each 
earnestly  wished  to  be  like  the  other.  Polly  would 
sigh  for  Patsy’s  brilhancy  and  Patsy  would  retort 
“ Oh,  Maria,  if  only  I had  your  beauty.”  Polly 
believed  that  Patsy  possessed  all  the  learning  and 
accomplishments  that  could  be  had,  while  Patsy 
thought  that  her  little  sister  was  the  most  beauti- 
ful woman  in  the  world. 

It  is  certainly  a delight  to  read  of  the  love  of 
these  sisters  for  each  other.  But  the  story  of  their 
love  becomes  almost  pathetic  when  we  reflect  upon 
the  premature  death  of  the  one  and  the  bitter  loss 
of  the  other.  During  the  greater  part  of  the  last 
days  together  they  were  alone.  Their  husbands, 
members  of  Congress,  were  at  Washington  with 
theii’  father.  Patsy  had  taken  Polly  home  with 
her  and  during  the  days  that  were  “ a period  of 
great  physical  suffering  to  one  and  of  the  keenest 
mental  anguish  to  the  other,”  she  was  Polly’s  nui-se 
and  mother  as  well  as  sister.  Then,  as  time  went 
on  and  Polly  grew  no  better,  Jacky  Eppes  came 
hurrying  home  anxious  and  heavy  hearted,  her 
father  followed,  and  it  was  with  those  that  she 
loved  fiist  and  last  about  her  that  sweet  little 
Polly  Jefferson  Eppes  faded  out  of  existence.  Her 
life  had  been  like  that  of  a fair  and  delicate  flower 
born  to  an  early  death. 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


211 


The  loss  of  their  dear  Polly  drew  Patsy  and  her 
father  more  closely  together  than  ever  before. 
They  became  more  and  more  necessary  to  each 
other’s  happiness  and  their  continued  separation 
from  each  other  seemed  to  them  almost  unbearable. 
It  was,  therefore,  with  more  than  usual  delight 
that  they  welcomed  the  time  that  brought  Patsy 
on  a second  visit  to  the  Presidential  mansion.  She 
came  in  the  winter  of  1805-G,  and  upon  this  occa- 
sion she  brought  her  whole  family  with  her,  a family 
which  at  the  time  consisted  of  one  son  and  six 
daughters.  Her  second  son,  James  Madison,  was 
bom  during  this  very  visit  and  enjoyed  the  distinc- 
tion of  being  the  first  child  bom  at  the  White  House. 

During  this  winter  spent  at  the  President’s  home, 
Mrs.  Randolph  was  very  happy  entertaining  her 
father’s  distinguished  guests  and  taking  part  in  all 
the  gayeties  of  the  capital.  She  was  everywhere 
admired.  Many  were  the  “■  encomiums  ” bestowed 
upon  her.  The  Marquis  de  Yrujo  who  was  then 
Spanish  Ambassador  at  Washington  declared  that 
she  was  fitted  to  grace  any  court  in  Europe  and 
John  Randolph  of  Roanoke  was  so  impressed  with 
the  beauty  of  her  mind  and  character  that  years 
after,  when  her  health  was  proposed  at  a gentle- 
man’s table  in  Virginia,  at  a time  when  “ crusty 
John”  himself  was  one  of  her  father’s  bitterest 
political  foes,  he  seconded  the  toast  mth  the  ex- 
clamation “ Yes,  gentlemen,  let  us  drink  to  the 
noblest  woman  in  Virginia.” 


212 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


Upon  tlie  occasion  of  this  second  visit  to  the 
White  House,  Mrs.  Randolph’s  eldest  daughter, 
Anne,  was  deemed  old  enough  to  appear  at  a ball 
in  Washington.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  the 
young  lady  dressed  herself  in  “ grande  toilette  ” and 
well  escorted  and  well  chaperoned  she  went  to  the 
hall.  ]\Irs.  Randolph,  who  Avas  very  near  sighted 
and  who  had  never  seen  her  daughter  except  in 
the  simple  childish  costumes  which  she  wore  at 
home,  was  filled  with  admiration  when  a certain 
tall  fair-haired  girl  entered  the  hallroom.  “ Who 
is  that  beautiful  young  woman  ? ” she  inquired  of 
Mrs.  Cutts,  Ml’S.  Madison’s  sister,  who  was  seated 
heside  her.  Mra.  Cutts  answered  with  a laugh. 
“ HeaA^ens  ! woman,”  she  exclaimed,  “ don’t  you 
know  your  own  child?” 

In  the  spring  that  followed  this  winter  of  mani- 
fold pleasures  and  excitements,  Mrs.  Randolph  uith 
her  young  family  Avithdrew  from  Washington 
society  and  returned  to  the  quiet  home  at  Edge- 
hill.  For  the  rest  of  her  life  Mrs.  Randolph  was 
to  live  retii’ed  from  the  world,  but  busy  Avith  many 
duties  and  responsibilities.  The  mother  of  a large 
family,  the  mistress  of  a Virginia  plantation,  and 
AAuth  her  husband’s  finances  always  in  an  embar- 
rassed condition,  she  had  much  to  occupy  her 
time  and  thought.  It  is  a charming  domestic  pic- 
ture that  Avhich  AA'e  haAm  of  IMadam  Patsy,  she  who 
had  pfraced  the  finest  and  most  aristocratic  circles 
in  the  world,  standing  among  her  slaA’es  like  the 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


213 


Greek  matron  of  old  among  her  handmaidens,  por- 
tioning out  the  wool  that  was  to  be  spun  and  made 
into  cloth. 

In  a life  which  was  one  of  almost  Homeric  sim- 
plicity, Mrs.  Randolph’s  recreations  were  her  books 
sent  her  by  her  father,  her  harpsichord,  the  con- 
stant companionship  of  the  children,  and  occasional 
visits  from  friends  or  neiglibors.  Calling  as  we 
understand  it  did  not  exist  for  Mrs.  Randolph. 
In  her  day  and  in  her  remote  part  of  the  world, 
company  did  not  come  for  a few  hours  in  the  morn- 
ing or  afternoon.  They  came  to  spend  the  day. 
Moreover,  they  did  not  wait  to  he  invited.  Very 
often  the  first  intimation  which  a hostess  had  that 
she  was  to  have  friends  to  dinner  was  the  sight  of 
a carriage  full  of  guests  driving  up  to  the  door 
about  eleven  or  twelve  o’clock  in  the  morning. 
The  feminine  portion  of  the  company  always 
brought  knitting  and  embroidery  with  them,  and 
great  was  the  clattering  of  needles  and  tongues  as 
the  latest  births,  marriages,  and  deaths  were  dis- 
cussed, together  with  the  condition  of  crops  and 
the  most  recent  happenings  in  the  political  world. 

It  was  a joyous  time  for  Mrs.  Randolph  and  for 
all  at  Edgehill  when  at  last  the  adored  father  and 
grandfather  returned  to  them,  not  as  President  of 
the  United  States  on  a hurried  visit  to  his  home 
and  family,  but  as  a simple  country  gentleman 
who  was  never  again  to  be  deprived  of  that 
domestic  “ peace  and  harmony  ” for  which  he  had 


214 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


sighed  so  many  years.  When  he  came  this  time 
the  removal  to  Monticello  was  jjermanent,  and  for 
the  remainder  of  his  life,  Jefferson  and  his  daugh- 
ter and  his  daughter’s  family  lived  happily  to- 
gether on  the  summit  of  the  little  mountain,  in  the 
home  that  was  so  dear  to  them  all. 

Her  father’s  death  and  the  loss  of  this  home  — 
a loss  that  came  because  of  the  too  generous  hospi- 
tality that  always  existed  there  — broke  Patsy’s 
heart.  The  troubles  that  followed,  her  liusband’s 
death  and  the  worries  and  vexations  of  poverty, 
found  her  resigned,  almost  unmoved.  “ There  is 
a time  in  human  suffering,”  she  wrote  pathetically 
in  her  note-book,  “ when  succeeding  sorrows  are 
hut  like  snow  falling  on  an  iceberg.” 

In  spite  of  her  broken  heart,  however,  Patsy  kept 
brave  and  cheerful.  She  even  contemplated  open- 
ing a school  for  the  support  of  herself  and  family; 
but  South  Carolina  and  Louisiana  proved  her 
friends,  and  by  the  donation  of  twenty  thousand 
dollars,  saved  her  from  the  pain  of  ending  her  days 
in  the  drudgery  of  school-teacliing. 

Her  children  Avere  her  comforters.  To  them  she 
wrote : “ My  life  is  a mere  shadow  as  regards  my- 
self. In  you  alone  I hve  and  am  attached  to  it. 
The  useless  pleasures  which  still  strew  my  path 
Avith  floAveis  — my  love  for  plants  and  books  — 
would  he  utterly  heartless  and  dull,  but  for  the 
happiness  I derive  from  my  affections  ; these  make 
life  still  dear  to  me.” 


MARTHA  JEFFERSON. 


215 


And  it  was  in  visiting  among  her  children  that 
Patsy’s  last  days  were  passed.  Many  of  them 
had  married  and  gone  far  from  the  old  home,  so 
that  she  lived  sometimes  in  Boston,  sometimes  in 
Washington,  and  sometimes  at  Edgehill.  Perhaps 
it  was  at  Edgehill,  the  . home  of  her  eldest  son, 
Jefferson,  that  she  was  best  contented.  There  she 
was  nearest  to  Monticello.  From  her  favorite 
window  there,  in  the  room  that  was  always  re- 
served for  her,  she  could  look  up  through  a newly 
opened  vista  of  trees  and  meadow  land  to  Monti- 
cello, and  in  sight  of  the  loved  home  live  over 
again  in  memory  the  long  season  of  happiness  that 
had  once  been  hers. 


VI. 


RACHEL  JACKSON, 

WIFE  OP  AlIDKEW  JACKSON. 


Born  in  Virginia  in  1767. 

Died  at  The  Hermitage,  Tenn.,  Dec.  23,  1828. 


“ Like  many  a woman  with  nothing  remarkable  abont  her, 
she  had  the  enviable  gift  of  making  life  sweet  and  reposing  to 
all  about  her.” — Mrs.  Jessie  Benton  Fremont. 


It  was  in  the  year  1789  that  a tall,  red-haired, 
stern-featured  young  man  made  his  appearance  in 
the  newly  arisen  settlement  of  Nashville,  Tennes- 
see. He  arrived  there  on  a “splendid”  horse,  in 
company  with  a party  of  emigrants  from  his  boy- 
hood home  in  the  Carolina  pine  woods.  His  name, 
he  said,  was  Andrew  Jaclcson.  * 

This  Andrew  Jackson,  it  was  discovered,  was  a 
young  man  of  many  experiences.  He  had  known 
what  it  was  to  be  a bare-footed,  bare-headed,  ragged, 
liungry,  tired  little  chap ; he  had  learned  what 
a struggle  existence  often  is,  and  in  liis  fierce,  de- 
termined sort  of  fashion  he  had  worked  his  way  up 
from  poverty  to  a certain  respectability  among  liis 
fellow-men.  In  the  log-house  country  from  which 

216 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


217 


lie  came  he  had  served  as  saddler,  school-teacher, 
store-keeper,  and  constable ; he  had  studied  law ; 
he  had,  moreover,  seen  something  of  life  in  its  vrorst 
aspects  and,  it  must  he  confessed,  had  taken  some 
part  in  the  betting,  racing,  gaming,  duelling,  and 
tavern  carousing  that  went  on  about  him. 

He  had  come  to  Nashville  to  seek  his  fortune. 
Shortly  after  he  arrived  in  the  young  settlement 
he  opened  a law  office  there  and  started  up  quite  a 
brisk  business  for  himself.  People  were  not  slow 
to  see  that  there  was  something  in  tliis  Andrew 
Jackson.  He  was,  to  be  sure,  as  his  life  had  made 
him,  a rough  man.  But  beneath  the  rough  exte- 
rior there  was  cleverness,  perseverance,  and  a most 
vigorous  energy. 

When  Mr.  Jackson  came  to  Nashville  he  went 
to  live  in  a boarding-house  that  was  kept  by  a Mrs. 
Donelson.  Mrs.  Donelson  was  a widow.  Her  hus- 
band, who  had  been  a sturdy  pioneer  in  the  settle- 
ment of  Nashville,  had  been  killed,  by  Indians  it 
was  supposed.  With  Mrs.  Donelson  lived  her  mar- 
ried daughter,  Mrs.  Robards,  and  the  society  of 
this  Mrs.  Robards  Jacltson  found  to  be  the  pleas- 
antest feature  in  his  boarding-house  life. 

Mrs.  Robards  was  an  interesting  woman.  She 
was  of  the  regular  pioneer  type  of  woman,  such  as 
was  often  to  be  met  with  in  the  frontier  towns  of 
our  country  during  the  earliest  days  of  the  repub- 
lic. Courageous,  daring,  full  of  life  and  spirits, 
she  was  universally  liked  as  a merry  story-teller,  a 


218 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


rollicking  dancer,  a daring  horse-woman,  and  withal 
a most  jolly  and  entertaining  companion. 

In  her  girlhood  days,  before  she  had  made  her 
unfortunate  marriage  with  the  intensely  jealous  and 
disagreeable  Mr.  Robards,  INIrs.  Robards  was  known 
as  the  “ sprightly  Rachel  Donelson.”  A gypsy-like 
girl,  black-eyed,  black-haired,  she  had  been  a great 
favorite  among  the  little  hand  of  settlers  that  had 
gone  westward  from  Virginia  to  found  a new  home 
in  the  beautiful  fertile  valley  of  the  Cumberland  in 
“ further  ” Tennessee. 

Rachel  was  little  more  than  a child  when  the  em- 
igration to  Nashville  occurred.  Her  father.  Col. 
John  Donelson,  was  a hold  man,  and  it  Avas  he  Avho 
led  the  expedition.  The  journey  Avas  made  by 
water.  A “ considerable  ” fleet  of  flathoats  carry- 
ing families  and  household  goods  embarked  at 
Jonesboro  in  eastern  Tennessee.  They  sailed  doAvn 
the  Holston  RiA^er  to  the  Tennessee,  down  the  Ten- 
nessee to  the  Ohio,  up  the  Ohio  to  Cumberland, 
and  up  the  Cumheiiand  to  a place  called  the  Big 
Salt  Lick.  AhoA^e  the  Lick,  on  a cedar  bluff  that 
overlooked  the  river,  they  built  themseL'es  a little 
settlement  of  log  cabins.  And  it  aaus  in  the  log 
cabin  settlement,  AA’hich  eA^entually  became  the  cap- 
ital city  of  Tennessee,  that  iMiss  Rachel  Donelson’s 
girlhood  days  Avere  passed. 

The  journey  to  the  new  home  had  been  a hazard- 
ous one.  The  traA^ellers  were  four  months  in 
going.  They  started  hi  midwinter  and  were  de- 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


219 


layed  by  frosts  and.  “ falls  of  water.”  In  the  spring 
more  boats  joined  them.  Many  were  the  advent- 
ures of  the  travellers.  Boats  were  stranded  or 
swung  violently  around  bends  in  the  river  and 
dashed  upon  the  rocks.  Sometimes  those  who 
were  sent  foraging  and  hunting  in  the  woods  along 
the  shore  never  returned.  All  about  them  were 
lurking  creeping  Indians  who,  hidden  in  the  cliffs 
above  the  river,  shot  upon  them  in  their  boats, 
wounding  and  terrifying  them. 

In  the  midst  of  this  perilous  voyage  there  comes 
a vision  of  Rachel  Donelson,  an  erect,  courageous 
little  figure  standing  at  the  helm  of  her  father’s 
“ good  boat  ” the  “ Adventure,”  while  Captain 
Donelson  himself  took  shots  at  the  savages  con- 
cealed in  the  rocky  heights  above.  Rachel  could 
guide  a boat  as  well  as  any  man,  and  an  inspiring 
sight  it  was  to  see  her,  with  arms  bared  to  the 
elbow,  her  black  hair  blowing  in  the  breeze,  her 
black  eyes  ever  alert  and  watchful,  while  she 
brought  the  ungainly  craft  safely  past  shoals 
and  reefs  and  eddying  tides.  Her  whole  atti- 
tude at  such  a time  was  one  of  fearlessness  and 
daring. 

Charming  she  certainly  was  as  a bold  and  able 
little  captain.  And  she  was  equally  charming 
when,  in  the  moments  of  recreation,  she  frolicked 
through  a merry,  noisy,  rollicking  reel  on  the  deck 
of  her  father’s  flatboat.  With  arms  akimbo, 
head  thrown  back,  eyes  dancing,  and  lips  parted 


220 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


she  set  many  a young  man’s  heart  to  heating  vio- 
lently. 

Of  course  Rachel  was  a helle  amongf  aU  the 
hardy  young  woodmen  and  planters  who  went  out 
with  Colonel  Donelson  to  take  possession  of  the 
fertile  region  around  the  Big  Salt  Lick.  But  it 
was  not  to  one  of  those  first  Xashville  settlers  that 
Rachel  gave  her  heart  and  hand.  She  married  a 
Kentuckian,  iMr.  Lewis  Robards,  and  left  her  father 
and  her  father’s  little  settlement  for  a husband  and 
a new  home  in  Kentucky. 

The  story  of  ]\Iiss  Rachel’s  marriage  with  IMr. 
Robards  is  not  a happy  one.  It  is  that  of  a cruel 
husband  and  an  early  divorce.  Rachel  had  never 
been  troubled  with  grave  doubts  and  feais.  She 
Avas  one  of  those  simple,  charitable,  undiscerning 
natures  that  sees  and  fears  no  Avrong.  She  left 
her  home  at  the  Big  Salt  Lick  a gay,  care-free, 
lighthearted  girl.  She  returned  sobered  by  a sad 
experience,  but  with  the  same  genial  temper  and 
unfailing  source  of  good  spirits. 

When  young  AncRew  Jackson  came  to  the 
NasliAulle  settlement,  Rachel  and  her  mother  AA'ere 
living  on  the  spot  tliat  had  been  theirs  since  the 
day  of  their  arrival  in  the  beautiful  AUillej*  of  the 
Cumberland.  The  mother  and  daughter  had  not 
ceased  to  mourn  their  braAm  pioneer  hero  who  had 
been  found  one  day,  lying  face  dowiiAvard  near  the 
creek,  with  a bullet  through  his  heart.  They  iieA^er 
kneAV  Avho  aimed  the  bullet.  Rachel  used  to  de- 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


221 


dare  she  was  sure  no  Indian  did  it ; her  father,  she 
said,  understood  the  ways  of  the  red  men  too  well 
to  be  caught  by  one  of  them. 

The  region  in  which  Rachel  lived  was  one  of 
violence  and  Idoodshed.  The  Indians  were  always 
lurking  in  some  hiding-place  to  spring  upon  new 
victims.  It  was  not  safe  for  white  folks  to  go 
about  their  business  except  with  a guard.  While 
some  of  the  settlers  planted,  others  watched ; while 
some  drew  water  from  the  spring,  others  stood  with 
guns  cocked  ready  to  slioot;  and  when  the  girls 
went  out  into  the  fields  about  their  homes  to  gather 
blackberries,  they  always  travelled  in  company  with 
a military  escort. 

Naturally,  in  the  midst  of  such  dangerous  sur- 
roundings, it  was  comfortable  to  have  near  at  hand 
so  brave  and  chivalrous  a protector  as  Andrew 
Jackson.  “ Sharp  Knife  ” and  “ Long  Arrow  ” — 
as  Jackson  came  to  be  known  among  tlie  Indians 
— was  deemed  a most  formidable  opponent  by  them, 
and  the  house  where  he  was  staying  and  where 
lived  the  Widow  Donelson  and  lier  daughter 
Rachel  was  comparatively  safe,  as  safe  as  any  in 
the  neighborhood,  from  the  attacks  of  the  red 
enemy. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  Andrew  Jackson  and 
Rachel  Donelson,  living  in  the  same  house  as  they 
did,  subjected  to  so  many  common  perils,  and  being 
so  congenial  in  tastes  and  characteristics,  should 
have  grown  to  love  each  other.  After  a two- 


222 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


years’  acquaintance,  in  the  year  1791  they  were 
married.  Their  life  together  from  their  wedding 
day  until  the  day  of  Mrs.  Jackson’s  death  is  a 
delightful  one  to  contemplate.  It  was  full  to  over- 
flowing with  the  sweets  and  happinesses  of  home. 

First  they  lived  in  great  prosperity  at  Hunter’s 
Hill.  In  1801  they  removed  to  “ The  Hermitage,” 
an  unpretentious  little  block  house  that  stood  in 
the  midst  of  flourishing  cotton  fields  and  corn 
fields,  only  a few  miles  from  Nashville.  And  it  is 
with  The  Hermitage  that  one  associates  all  the 
pleasantest  memories  of  Andrew  Jackson  and  his 
wife. 

The  Hermitage  was  a house  of  only  four  rooms, 
but  it  held  many  people.  Andrew  Jackson  and 
his  wife  were  “ the  king  and  queen  of  hospitality.” 
No  one  was  ever  turned  away  from  their  door. 
We  read  of  times  when  each  of  the  four  rooms  was 
filled  with  a whole  family  and  when  the  piazza 
and  other  places  of  half  shelter  about  the  house 
were  transformed  into  “ bunks  ” for  the  young  men 
and  boys  of  the  visiting  party. 

Entertainment  was  not  difficult  at  The  Hermi- 
tage. There  the  summer  lasted  for  eight  months 
and  there  was  only  one  month  of  actual  -winter. 
The  house  was  always  open  to  the  breezes  and  the 
sunshine  rushed  in  at  all  the  doors  and  windo-ws. 
Housekeeping  was  very  unceremonious,  almost  like 
a perpetual  picnicing  and  camping  out.  Moreover, 
the  inmates  of  The  Hermitage  did  not  really  live 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


223 


there.  They  only  made  a convenience  of  the  house 
in  times  of  rain  and  cold  and  illness.  They  lived 
out  of  doors,  on  horseback  and  in  the  fields  and 
Avoods. 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  its  free  and  easy  charac- 
ter, life  at  The  Hermitage  was  a very  busy  affair. 
Mr.  Jackson  was  a man  of  many  occupations.  He 
was  a slave-owner  and  a farmer,  a storekeeper,  a 
laAvyer,  and  a soldier.  W e may  imagizie  that  there 
Avas  much  for  him  to  do  and  much  also  for  his 
helpful  Avife  to  do.  Mr.  Jackson  Avas  often  called 
away  from  home  on  matters  pertaining  to  his  vari- 
ous businesses.  In  his  absences  Mrs.  Jackson  took 
charge  of  all  things  at  The  Hermitage,  and  an  excel- 
lent manager  and  mistress  she  made.  Unlearned 
though  she  was  in  the  lore  of  schools,  she  was  very 
Avise  in  knoAvledge  of  the  Avoods,  the  field,  the 
kitchen,  and  the  dairy.  She  Avas  famed  far  and 
Avide  for  her  cookery  and  housekeeping  and  for  her 
open-handed  hospitality. 

Many  are  the  delightful  pictures  of  the  Jackson 
home  life  that  have  come  down  to  us.  We  read 
of  the  countless  little  people,  who  visited  at  The 
Hermitage  and  Avho  were  all  enthusiastic  in  their 
praises  of  “Aunt  Rachel”  and  “Uncle  Jackson,” 
and  of  the  jolly  times  they  had  in  their  society. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jackson  had  no  cluldren  of  their 
own  — a “ sore  grief  ” it  was  said  to  have  been  to 
both  of  them ; but  they  Avere  godfather  and  god- 
mother to  a host  of  small  relatives  and  neighbors 


224 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


to  whom  The  Hermitage  was  always  a second  home. 
One  little  boy  there  was  who  came  to  them  as 
their  own  child  and  called  them  father  and  mother. 
He  was  the  son  of  one  of  Mrs.  Jackson’s  brother’s 
and  was  legally  adopted  by  the  master  and  mistress 
of  The  Hermitage  and  given  the  name  of  Andrew 
Jackson.  Of  conrse  the  entrance  of  this  little  son 
into  the  Jackson  home  rvas  a most  important  and 
joyful  event. 

Another  nephew,  knorvn  as  Andrew  .Jackson 
Donelson,  was  a very  frequent  inhabitant  of  The 
Hermitage.  He  was  a sturdy,  brave  little  chap,  a 
great  favorite  with  iMr.  Jackson  and  Iris  wife. 
These  two  Andrews  and  all  the  other  little  Andrews 
and  Rachels  who  came  a-visiting  made  The  Hermit- 
age a very  merry,  happy  sort  of  place.  The  beauti- 
ful grounds  and  splendid  hallways  at  Mt.  Vernon 
and  JMonticello  never  rang  with  heartier  laugh- 
ter than  did  The  Hermitage  in  all  its  rude  sim- 
plicity. 

There  was  notlhng  at  all  grand  or  imposing 
about  Andrew  Jaclison  and  his  wife.  It  was  their 
custom  to  sit  of  an  evening  beside  their  fireside, 
each  of  them  smoking  their  long  reed  pipes  and 
enjoying  life  in  very  primitive  fashion.  Yet,  in 
spite  of  their  lack  of  elegance  and  culture,  their 
ways  were  those  of  “ pleasantness  and  peace  ” and 
their  interconi’se  with  each  other  and  with  all  who 
came  Avithin  the  cheerj^  radius  of  their  hearthside 
Avas  of  the  gentlest  and  most  courteous. 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


225 


Jackson,  who  in  the  world  of  business,  war,  and 
politics  was  deemed  the  most  belligerent  of  men, 
was  very  different  in  the  genial  atmosphere  of  the 
home  circle.  No  one  who  had  known  him  as  the 
fierce  fighter  would  have  recognized  him  when 
seated  by  his  fireside  with  the  children  about  him, 
very  often  wedged  three  in  a chair,  the  very  picture 
of  domestic  placidity  and  content. 

By  the  fireside,  opposite  him,  his  wife  would  sit. 
Short,  stout,  and  jolly,  with  laughing  black  eyes, 
Mrs.  Jackson  always  radiated  an  atmosphere  of 
sunshine  and  good  cheer.  To  the  delight  of  her 
young  guests  and  of  her  husband  as  well,  she 
would  I’elate  with  a true  story-teller’s  ability  the 
tale  of  the  first  Cumberland  settlements,  of  her 
father’s  famous  river  voyage,  of  the  dreadful  Indian 
alarms,  and  the  days  when  scarcely  a week  went  by 
without  some  one  being  killed,  and  of  the  heroes  of 
the  wilderness  whom  she  had  known  and  admired. 
And  sometimes,  in  the  midst  of  her  story-telling, 
she  would  break  off  to  sing  to  them,  ballads  of 
the  West,  stirring  ditties  of  danger  and  brave 
deeds. 

Mrs.  Jackson’s  life,  the  life  of  which  she  talked 
and  sang,  had  been  one  of  many  hardships  and 
adventures.  Nor  were  her  hardships  and  advent- 
ures yet  over.  On  the  nights  when  her  husband 
was  away  from  home,  often  in  places  and  scenes  of 
great  peril,  she  would  lie  awake,  her  mind  busy 
with  anxieties  and  fears.  But  it  was  only  to  see 


226 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


tlie  General  — Jackson  had  been  made  major- 
general  by  the  National  Government  — return 
once  more  with  the  light  of  some  new  victory  in 
his  eyes,  some  conquest  of  the  red  man  or  ot  Jhe 
European  powers  who  were  in  vain  contesting  for 
the  possession  of  the  West. 

From  one  of  his  victories  Jackson  came  home  to 
The  Hermitage  carrying  in  his  arms  a small  bundle 
tliat  proved  to  be  a little  Indian  baby  rescued  from 
the  field  of  battle.  We  read  of  how  the  boy  was 
“ cordially  received  ” by  Mrs.  Jackson,  and  of  how 
he  grew  up  a finely  formed,  robust,  and  well-edu- 
cated young  Indian,  given  to  wild  freaks  and  fan- 
cies, the  terror  of  certain  timid  little  girls  who  used 
to  visit  at  The  Hermitage. 

The  story  of  the  Indian  boy  shows  us  that  it  was 
not  only  the  relatives  and  friends  of  Andrew  Jack- 
son  and  his  Avife  who  were  so  hospitably  wel- 
comed at  The  Hermitage.  Even  more  than  a 
rendezvous  for  those  who  had  some  claim  upon  the 
Jacksons’  hospitality,  their  home  was  a refuge  for 
the  unfortunate  and  a tavern  for  the  belated  trav- 
eller. Indeed,  the  charm  of  the  Jackson  hospitality, 
it  was  said,  lay  in  the  fact  that  the  poorest  wa}’farer 
was  as  courteously  received  as  the  President  of  the 
United  States. 

Outside  of  The  Hermitage  as  well  as  inside,  the 
Jacksons  enjoyed  life  after  their  own  fashion.  Mr. 
Jackson  was  interested  in  horse  racing  and  often 
took  part  with  his  famous  horse  Truston  in  the 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


227 


annual  autumn  contest.  Of  course,  when  the 
General  and  Truxton  appeared,  Mrs.  Jackson  was 
always  present  among  the  spectators. 

Both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jackson  were  very  fond  of 
dancing.  An  amusing  sight  it  was  said  to  have 
been  to  behold  them  performing  together  in  one  of 
the  visrorous  old-fashioned  reels  of  the  frontier. 

O 

They  were  in  such  decided  contrast  to  each  other, 
she  so  short  and  stout  and  he  so  tall  and  slender. 
Many  an  onlooker  smiled  at  them.  But  the  smiles 
did  not  disconcert  the  General  and  his  wife.  They 
went  on  “ reeling  ” it  together,  unconscious  of  all 
else  hut  their  own  pleasure  in  the  dance. 

The  simple  life  in  and  about  The  Hermitage,  free 
from  all  ceremonies  and  conventions,  was  exactly 
suited  to  Mrs.  Jaclcson.  She  was  charming  in  all 
its  phases.  But  it  was  different  when,  as  the  wife  of 
the  hero  of  New  Orleans,  she  went  to  visit  the 
scene  of  her  husband’s  triumphs.  She  could  not 
feel  at  home  among  the  elegant  Creole  ladies  of 
the  city  and  had  to  confess  that  she  knew  nothing 
of  fine  clothes  and  fine  manners.  Nevertheless,  in 
spite  of  her  lack  of  polish  in  appeai’ance  and  behav- 
ior, the  ladies  were  very  attentive  to  her.  They 
dressed  her  as  became  her  in  her  high  position  and 
gathered  about  her  on  all  occasions  of  state  to  do' 
honor  to  the  wife  of  their  adored  hero. 

Of  course  the  General  himself  Avas  delighted  to 
have  his  “bonny  brown  wife,”  as  Mrs.  Jackson  Avas 
called,  with  him  at  headquarters.  He  was  blind  to 


228 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


the  difference  between  her  and  the  elegant  Creole 
ladies.  He  made  it  evident  to  all  that  he  consid- 
ered his  wife  “ the  dearest  and  most  revered  of 
human  beings,”  and  nothing  pleased  him  so  much 
as  regard  bestowed  upon  her. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jackson  did  not  put  on  any  airs. 
They  were  the  same  unaffected,  unpretentious 
couple  in  the  midst  of  the  brilliant  society  of  New 
Orleans  as  they  had  been  among  the  rude  surround- 
ings of  their  frontier  home.  At  the  “ grand  ball  ” 
which  was  given  in  honor  of  the  Hctorious  hero, 
the  hero  and  his  wife  went  through  their  favorite 
reel  together  to  the  gratification  and  amusement  of 

O O 

all  onlookers.  One  Avho  was  present  has  left  a 
vivid  account  of  their  performance  : “ After  sup- 
per,” reads  the  record,  “ we  were  treated  to  a most 
delicious  pas  cle  deux  by  the  conqueror  and  his 
spouse.  To  see  these  two  figures  — the  General,  a 
long  haggard  man  with  limbs  like  a skeleton,  and 
Madame  la  Generale,  a short  fat  dumpling — bobbing 
opposite  each  other  to  the  wild  melody  of  ‘ Possum 
up  de  Gum  Tree  ’ and  endeavoring  to  make  a 
spring  into  the  air  was  very  remarkable  and  far 
more  edifying  a spectacle  than  any  European  ballet 
could  possibly  have  furnished.” 

Mrs.  Jackson  brought  little  Andrew  with  her 
when  she  came  to  visit  the  General  at  headquarters. 
The  child,  like  the  mother,  was  a great  comfort  and 
joy  to  the  fierce  fighter.  Indeed,  we  find  it  hard  to 
recognize  the  fierce  fighter  in  a certain  charming 


THE  HERO  AND  HIS  WIFE  WENT  THROUGH  THEIR  FAVORITE  REEL 
TOGETHER. 


m'': 

n - 


■A*>  I 

. 


'f',^-^  I" 

, ■ 


'»'{ 


/■ 


'\i;'x: 

U--^r 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


229 


picture  that  the  hiographer  has  given  us  of  Jackson 
at  this  period  of  his  greatness. 

“ Little  Andrew  was  a pet  at  quarters,”  we  read. 
“ The  General  could  deny  him  nothing,  and  spent 
eveiy  leisure  moment  in  playing  with  him,  often 
holding  him  in  his  arms  while  he  transacted  busi- 
ness. One  evening,  a lady  informs  me,  some  com- 
panies of  soldiers  halted  beneath  the  windows  of 
the  headquarters  and  the  attending  crowd  began  to 
cheer  the  General,  and  call  for  his  appearance  — 
a common  occurrence  in  those  days.  The  little 
boy,  who  was  asleep  in  an  adjoining  room,  was 
waked  by  the  noise  and  began  to  cry.  The  Gen- 
eral had  risen  from  his  chair  and  was  going  to  the 
window  to  present  himself  to  the  clamoring  crowd, 
when  he  heard  the  cry  of  the  child.  He  paused  in 
the  middle  of  the  room  in  doubt  for  a moment 
which  call  to  fu’st  obey  — the  hoy’s  or  the  citizens’. 
The  doubt  was  soon  solved,  however.  He  ran  to 
the  bedside  of  his  son,  caught  him  in  his  arms, 
hushed  his  cries,  and  carried  him  (in  his  nightgown) 
to  the  window,  where  he  bowed  to  the  people,  and 
at  the  same  time  amused  the  child  with  the  scenes 
in  the  street.’’ 

It  was  rather  more  than  five  jmars  later,  after  the 
period  of  Jackson’s  triumph  at  New  Orleans,  that 
the  General  was  appointed  governor  of  Florida, 
and  he  and  Mrs.  Jackson  and  little  Andrew  went 
to  live  in  the  region  of  fruit  and  flowers.  Their 
house  which  had  been  prepared  and  furnished  for 


230 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


them  was  in  Pensacola  on  Main  street  overlooking 
the  hay. 

Mrs.  Jackson  described  the  land  to  which  they 
had  come  in  a letter  to  her  friends  at  home. 
“ Pensacola  is  a perfect  plain,”  she  wrote,  “ the 
land  nearly  as  white  as  flour,  yet  productive  of 
fine  peach-trees,  oranges  in  abundance,  grapes,  figs, 
pomegranates,  etc.  Fine  flowem  growing  spontane- 
ously, for  the  people  have  neglected  the  gardens, 
expecting  a change  of  government.  The  town  is 
immediately  on  the  hay.  The  most  beautiful  water 
prospect  I ever  saw ; and  from  ten  o’clock  in  the 
morning  until  ten  at  night  we  have  the  finest  sea 
breeze.  There  is  something  in  it  so  exhilarat- 
ing, so  pure,  so  wholesome,  it  enlivens  the  whole 
system.  All  the  houses  look  in  ruins,  old  as  time. 
Many  squares  of  the  town  appear  grown  over  with 
the  thickest  shrubs,  weeping  willows,  and  the 
pride  of  China ; all  look  neglected.  The  inhabi- 
tants all  speak  Spanish  and  French.  Some  speak 
four  or  five  languages.  Such  a mixed  multitude 
you,  or  any  of  us,  never  had  an  idea  of.  There  are 
fewer  white  people  than  any  other.” 

The  land  which  jMi-s.  Jackson  described  so 
graphically  and  to  which  she  had  come  a somewhat 
unvfilling  guest  was  a troubled  land.  General 
Jaclcson’s  occupation  of  it  had  not  been  eas}'. 
Florida  was  passing  from  Spanish  to  American 
rule,  and  there  had  been  several  stormy  encounters 
with  the  Spanish  officials,  who  sometimes  required 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


231 


rather  violent  means  of  persuasion  to  be  made  to 
yield. 

Mrs.  Jackson  tells  us  that  her  husband’s  task 
had  been  an  “ arduous  ” one.  He  had  been  the 
fierce  fighter  tlrroughout,  obstinate  and  determined 
as  he  always  was  in  war.  We  read  from  Mrs. 
Jackson’s  account  that  “ when  he  was  in  camp, 
fourteen  miles  from  Pensacola,  he  was  very  sick. 
I went  to  see  him,”  she  says,  “ to  try  and  pursuade 
lum  to  come  to  his  home.  But  no.  All  his  friends 
tried.  He  said  that  when  he  came  in,  it  should  be 
under  his  own  standard.  And  he  has  done  so.” 

From  Mrs.  Jackson’s  pen  which,  though  it  was 
occasionally  a stumbling  pen,  was  an  interesting 
one,  we  have  a picture  of  fhe  final  evacuation  of 
Florida  by  the  Spaniards  and  the  formal  taking 
possession  of  the  country  by  the  Americans,  Jack- 
son  coming  in  “ under  his  own  standard  ” as  he  had 
vowed  he  would.  From  the  balcony  of  her  house 
on  Main  street,  Mrs.  Jacksoir  narrates,  she  sat  and 
watched  the  American  troops,  her  brave  husband 
at  their  head,  march  into  the  conquered  city. 
They  rode,  she  said,  under  the  stars  and  stripes 
and  were  accompanied  by  a full  band  of  music. 
They  passed  on  to  the  government  house,  where 
the  two  generals  (the  Spanish  and  the  American) 
met  “ in  the  manner  prescribed.”  There  his  Cath- 
olic Majesty’s  flag  was  lowered,  and  the  American 
hoisted  high  in  air,  not  less  than  one  hundred  feet. 
There  was  no  shout  of  joy  or  exultation  upon  the 


232 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


occasion.  The  victorious  people,  we  are  told,  sym- 
pathized with  the  vanquished.  The  hearts  of  the 
Americans  went  out  to  the  Spaniards,  who  hurst 
into  tears,  so  it  is  related,  when  they  saw  their  last 
hope  depart,  the  keys  of  their  archives  delivered 
over,  and  lying  at  anchor  in  full  view  the  vessels 
that  were  to  carry  them  far  away  from  the  beloved 
land  that  had  once  been  theire. 

Prominent  on  the  staff  of  the  incoming  governor 
was  his  nephew,  Andrew  Jackson  Donelson,  of 
whom  we  have  heard  before.  Donelson  was  a 
young  man  of  soldierly  ideas  and  tastes,  and  he 
much  enjoyed  the  turbulent  scenes  into  which  the 
General  carried  him.  lie  had  recently  attained  the 
dignity  of  having  graduated  from  "West  Point  and 
of  being  dubbed  lieutenant.  Brave,  merry,  and 
giving  promise  of  a brilliant  military  career,  he  was 
a source  of  daily  satisfaction  to  his  fighting  uncle. 

Young  Donelson  was  very  much  in  love  with  a 
certain  pretty  cousin  of  his  — Emily,  her  name  was. 
He  had  known  her  in  their  early  childliood  days  at 
The  Hermitage.  He  and  she  and  a whole  flock  of 
children  used  to  go  from  The  Hermitage  neighbor- 
hood to  school  together.  “ One  spring  mornhig,” 
so  the  stoiy  goes,  “ as  the  whole  be\y  were  on  their 
way  they  came  to  a roaring  little  creek  which  only 
existed  in  wet  weather,  and  there  was  much  ado 
among  them  as  to  the  girls  getting  across.  After 
some  consultation  it  was  concluded  that  Andrew 
should  wade  and  carry  his  pretty  cousin,  and  this  he 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


233 


did.  He  long  afterwards  said  that  as  he  held  the 
delicate  little  creature  in  his  arms  he  realized  that 
he  was  in  love  with  her  and  determined  to  marry 
her  some  day.”  And  marry  his  cousin  Lieutenant 
Donelson  did,  and  this  only  a short  while  after  the 
Spanish  evacuation  of  Florida.  We  can  imagine 
what  a delight  his  marriage  was  to  the  General  and 
Mrs.  Jackson,  and  how  glad  they  were  to  have  the 
young  couple  with  them  when,  in  later  days,  they 
went  to  live  in  Washington  as  United  States  Sena- 
tor Andrew  Jackson  and  wife. 

Lieutenant  Donelson,  as  we  have  seen,  enjoyed 
the  life  in  Florida,  but  it  was  not  so  with  the  other 
younger  Andrew.  That  little  gentleman,  then  a 
boy  of  twelve,  less  soldierly  and  more  delicate  and 
sensitive  than  his  cousin,  was  homesick  in  the 
midst  of  the  flowers  and  fruits  of  Pensacola  for  his 
log-cabin  home  in  Tennessee.  Indeed,  he  was  so 
very  unhappy  in  the  new  land  that  he  was  finally 
sent  home  and  put  under  the  care  of  his  uncle  John 
Donelson  until  the  time  wlien  his  father  and  mother 
could  follow  him  and  when  they  could  all  return 
together  to  the  place  that  was  so  dear  to  them. 

Mrs.  Jacfeon  was  almost  as  homesick  as  little 
Andrew.  “ Believe  me,”  she  wrote  to  her  friends 
at  home,  “ this  country  has  been  greatly  overrated. 
One  acre  of  our  fine  Tennessee  land  is  worth  a 
thousand  here.”  And  again  she  declares,  “ Tell 
our  friends  I hope  to  see  them  again  in  our  coun- 
try, and  know  it  is  the  best  I ever  saw.”  Her 


234 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


thoughts  were  continually  on  her  affairs  at  The 
Hermitage.  We  find  Mr.  Jackson  sending  such 
messages  as  this  to  their  brother,  Captain  Donelson, 
a near  neighbor:  “Mrs.  Jackson  requests  me  to 
return  her  thanks  for  the  pleasant  and  minute  de- 
tails you  were  pleased  to  give  her  of  her  chickens, 
ducks,  and  goslings.  If  old  Hannah  [a  favorite 
servant  of  Mrs.  Jackson’s]  should  be  able  to  report 
as  present  as  many  chickens  on  our  return  in  No- 
vember, say  to  her,  her  mistress  will  • duh  her  a 
knight  of  the  feather  and  give  her  a medal  plume.” 

Mrs.  Jackson  was  a very  devout  woman,  and  nat- 
urally the  irreligious  behavior  of  the  people  of 
I'lorida  quite  scandalized  her.  “ Oh,  how  shall  I 
make  you  sensible  of  what  a heathen  land  I am 
in,  ” she  writes.  “ I feel  as  if  I were  in  a vast  howl- 
ing wilderness  far  from  my  friends  in  the  Lord, 
my  home  and  country.  Three  Sabbaths  I spent 
in  this  house  before  the  country  was  in  possession 
under  American  government.  In  all  that  time  I 
was  not  an  idle  spectator ; the  Sabbath  profanely 
kept ; a great  deal  of  noise  and  swearing  in  the 
streets  ; stores  kept  open ; trade  going  on,  I think, 
more  than  on  any  other  day.” 

Tins  state  of  affairs  did  not  only  scandalize  Mrs. 
-Jackson.  It  aroused  her  to  take  measures  against 
it.  When  her  husband  came  into  power  as  gov- 
ernor of  Florida,  she  used  her  influence  to  bring  the 
country  to  a more  circumspect  and  reverent  con- 
duct. It  is  recorded  that  Mi's.  Rachel  Jackson 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


235 


desired  and  Governor  Andrew  Jackson  ordained 
that  the  theatre  and  gaming  houses  be  shut  on 
Sundays,  and  that  accordingly  the  theatres  and 
gaming  houses  were  shut  on  Sundays. 

From  Mrs.  Jackson’s  letters  it  Avould  appear  that 
Mr.  Jackson  was  as  dissatisfied  as  herself  and  the 
hoy  with  the  life  in  Florida,  and  that  he  was  as 
desirous  as  they  to  return  to  The  Hermitage.  “ The 
General,”  writes  the  lady,  “is  as  anxious  to  get 
home  as  I am  ; ” and  again,  “ The  General,  I think, 
is  the  most  anxious  man  to  get  home  I ever  saw. 
He  calls  it  a wild-goose  chase,  his  coming  here.” 

Mrs.  Jackson’s  letters  give  a true  picture  of 
the  General’s  state  of  mind.  He  was  indeed 
“ anxious  to  get  home.”  His  governorsinp  in 
Florida  was  one  of  many  toils  and  much  fatigue 
and  trouble.  He  was  glad  to  give  it  up,  finally, 
and  to  return  to  The  Hermitage  in  company  with 
his  son  Andrew  and  his  beloved  wife  Rachel. 

It  was  the  General’s  desire  and  his  intention  too 
to  remain  a private  citizen  for  the  rest  of  his  days. 
He  was  fifty-four  and  had  fought  a hard  fight,  and 
he  considered  himself  retired  from  public  life  and 
entitled  to  the  enjoyment  of  home  comforts. 

To  his  fond  eyes  The  Hermitage,  after  his  long 
absence  from  it,  appeared  more  charming  than  ever. 
It  was  a different  Hermitage  from  The  Hermitage 
of  his  early  married  days.  A more  spacious,  but 
still  very  simple  and  unpretentious  building  had 
taken  the  place  of  the  old  log-cabin  home.  The 


236 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


new  house  was  of  brick,  and  its  most  conspicuous 
feature  was  its  broad  piazza  shaded  by  plants  and 
vines.  About  the  bouse  were  groves  of  evergreen 
and  an  avenue  of  cedar,  and  a large  garden  where 
pebbled  paths  wound  in  and  out  among  beds  of 
Mrs.  Jackson’s  favorite  flowers. 

Not  far  from  the  bouse  stood  the  stables,  a large 
one  for  Mr.  Jackson’s  fiery  steeds  and  a smaller 
one  for  the  shelter  of  the  huge  family  coach  in 
which  the  General  and  bis  wife  took  tbeu’  outings, 
and  wliicb  bad  been  a present  from  him  to  her  in 
the  early  days  of  liis  greatness. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  buildings  on  the 
whole  estate  was  the  little  brick  church  winch 
Jackson  bad  raised  as  a tribute  to  bis  wife.  It  was 
without  steeple  or  portico  or  entry,  and  was  in 
appearance  very  like  a New  England  country 
scbool-bouse,  but  to  Mrs.  Jackson’s  devout  soul  it 
was  as  satisfying  as  a cathedral  of  sublimest  pro- 
portions. She  was  never  content  when  she  was 
far  from  it,  and  her  happiest  moments  were  those 
when  she  was  seated  in  its  “ sacred  precincts,”  her 
husband  by  her  side,  experiencing  the  comfort  and 
peace  of  its  pure  atmosphere. 

The  life  within  doors  at  The  Hermitage  was  veiy 
much  as  it  had  always  been.  Still  there  were  in- 
ward as  well  as  outward  changes.  In  place  of  the 
two  small  Andrews  who  used  to  share  the  Gen- 
eral’s chair,  we  find  a boy  in  his  teens  and  a young 
lieutenant.  The  young  heutenant  was  hving  with 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


237 


the  General  as  his  private  secretary  and  his  little 
cousin  Emily,  whom  this  Andrew,  in  the  days  be- 
fore he  was  lieutenant,  had  carried  in  his  arms 
across  a tempestuous  stream,  was  now  his  wife,  a 
beautiful  young  bride  of  sixteen.  There  were 
other  young  people  at  The  Hermitage  besides  the 
two  Andrews  and  Emily.  There  were  nieces  and 
nephews  and  neighbors,  and  they  all  talked  and 
danced  and  made  music  for  the  General  and  his 
wife.  In  accomplishments  and  education  these 
young  people  had  gone  far  beyond  their  Aunt 
Rachel,  but  still  they  never  tired  of  having  her 
sing  her  songs  and  tell  her  stories,  and  they  always 
listened  to  her  with  the  same  interest  and  pleasure 
as  in  the  far-away  days  of  their  childhood. 

Those  good  times  with  Aunt  Rachel  at  The  Hei^ 
mitage  were  never  forgotten.  Many  years  after, 
when  Mrs.  Jackson  herself  had  long  been  dead, 
one  of  those  Avho  had  called  her  “ Aunt  Rachel  ” 
and  who  had  enjoyed  the  charm  of  her  genial,  sun- 
shiny personality  wrote  of  her  in  affectionate  re- 
membrance. “ I knew  her  well,”  he  said.  “ A 
more  exemplary  woman  in  all  the  relations  of  life, 
wife,  friend,  neighbor,  relative,  mistress  of  slaves, 
never  lived  and  never  presented  a more  quiet, 
cheerful,  and  admirable  management  of  her  house- 
holdo  She  had  not  education,  but  she  had  a lieart, 
and  a good  one,  and  that  was  always  leading  her 
to  do  kind  things  in  the  kindest  manner.  She  had 
the  General’s  own  warm  heart,  frank  manners,  and 


238 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


hospitable  temper;  and  no  two  persons  could  have 
been  better  suited  to  each  other,  lived  more  hap- 
pily together,  or  made  a home  more  attractive  to 
visitors.  She  had  the  faculty — a rare  one  — of 
retaining  names  and  titles  in  a thi’ong  of  visitors, 
adch’essing  each  one  appropriately  and  dispensing 
hospitality  to  all  with  a cordiality  wliich  enhanced 
its  value.  No  bashful  youth  or  plain  old  man, 
whose  modesty  sat  them  doAvn  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  table,  could  escape  her  cordial  attention,  any 
more  than  the  titled  gentlemen  at  her  right  and 
left.  Young  persons  were  her  delight,  and  she 
alwaj^s  had  her  house  filled  with  them,  — clever 
young  women  and  clever  young  men,  — all  calling 
her  affectionately  ‘ Aunt  Rachel.’  ” 

The  happy  days  which  saw  Aunt  Rachel  mis- 
tress of  The  Hermitage  were  drawing  to  an  end. 
In  the  year  1824  Jackson  was  elected  United 
States  Senator.  He  said  good-by  to  The  Hermitage 
and  private  life  to  become  a public  character  once 
more,  and  in  the  fall  of  the  year  set  out  in  company 
with  his  wife  and  a feAV  of  theu  young  relatives  for 
Washington.  The  journey  was  performed  in  the 
huge  family  coach  which  was  said  to  have  been  about 
the  size  of  a mail  coach  of  olden  times.  Those  were 
the  days  of  slow  travelhng,  and  it  took  the  Jack- 
sons  twenty-seven  days  to  reach  their  destination. 

Mrs.  Jackson  m’ote,  in  interesting  characteristic 
fashion,  of  the  journey  and  of  the  city  to  which  she 
had  come.  Her  letters  show  that  her  head  had  not 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


239 


been  turned  by  the  grandeur  of  her  new  life.  She 
was  the  same  unaffected,  sensible,  devout  little 
woman  as  at  The  Hermitage.  “ The  present 
moment,”  she  says,  “ is  the  first  I can  call  my  own 
since  my  arrival  in  this  great  city.  Our  journey 
indeed  was  fatiguing.  We  were  twenty-seven  days 
on  the  road,  but  no  accident  happened  to  us.  We 
are  boarding  in  the  same  house  with  the  nation’s 
guest.  La  Fayette.  I am  delighted  with  him.  All 
the  attentions,  all  the  parties  he  goes  to,  never 
appear  to  have  any  effect  on  him.  In  fact,  he  is  an 
extraordinary  man.  When  we  first  came  to  this 
house  the  General  said  he  would  go  and  pay  the 
Marquis  the  first  visit.  Both  having  the  same 
desire  and  at  the  same  time,  they  met  on  the  entry 
of  the  stairs.  It  was  truly  interesting.  At  Charles- 
town General  Jackson  saw  liim  on  the  field  of 
battle,  the  General  a boy  of  twelve,  the  Marquis 
twenty-three.  The  Marquis  wears  a wig,  and  is  a 
little  inclined  to  corpulency.  He  is  very  healthy, 
eats  hearty,  goes  to  every  party,  and  that  is  every 
night.  To  tell  you  of  this  city,  I would  not  do 
justice  to  the  subject.  The  extravagance  is  in 
dressing  and  running  to  parties ; but  I must  say 
they  regard  the  Sabbath  and  attend  preaching,  for 
there  are  churches  of  every  denomination  and  able 
ministers  of  the  gospel.  We  have  been  here  two 
Sabbaths.  The  General  and  myself  were  both  days 
at  church.  Mr.  Baker  is  the  pastor  of  the  church 
we  go  to.  He  is  a fine  man,  a plain  good  preacher. 


240 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


We  were  waited  on  by  two  of  Mr.  Balche’s  elders, 
inviting  us  to  take  a pew  in  Ids  church  in  George- 
town, hut  previous  to  that  I had  an  mvitation  to 
the  other.  General  Cole,  Mary,  Einily,  and 
Andrew  went  to  the  Episcopal  church.  Oh,  my 
dear  friend,  how  shall  I get  through  this  bustle ! 
There  are  not  less  than  from  fifty  to  one  hundred 
persons  calling  in  a day.” 

From  General  Jackson’s  election  as  United 
States  Senator  it  was  but  a stej)  to  the  presidency. 
During  the  period  of  his  Senatorship  the  mighty 
game  was  played  which  was  to  make  1dm  chief 
magistrate  of  the  land.  iMrs.  Jackson  did  not 
approve  of  her  husband’s  running  for  president. 
She  wished  success  for  him  oidy  because  he  wished 
it  for  himself.  She  herself  had  no  desire  for  a high 
position.  Her  good  sense  as  a woman  perhaps 
even  more  than  her  religious  opinions  taught  her 
the  emptiness  of  fame  and  glory.  She  besought 
Mr.  Jackson  not  to  be  dazzled  or  deluded  by  Ids 
popularity.  And  one  Sunday  morning,  Avhen  he 
and  she  chanced  to  be  at  home  and  Avere  on  their 
way  to  the  little  brick  church  at  The  Hermitage, 
she  urged  him  to  “ renounce  the  Avorld,”  as  she 
expressed  it  in  the  vernacular  of  the  Presbyterian 
faith,  to  join  the  church  and  partake  of  the  com- 
munion with  her.  Her  husband  answered  her, 
“ My  deal’,  if  I were  to  do  that  now,  it  would  be 
said,  all  over  the  country,  that  I had  done  it  for  po- 
litical effect.  My  enemies  would  all  say  so.  I can- 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


241 


not  do  it  notv,  but  I promise  you  that  when  once 
more  I am  clear  of  politics  I will  join  the  church.” 

Jackson  kept  his  promise,  and  years  afterwards 
he  related  the  incident  of  his  promise,  with  tears 
in  his  eyes,  as  he  and  an  old  friend  stood  together 
under  the  tall  trees  that  shaded  the  church  his 
Avife  had  loved  so  dearly. 

From  the  time  of  Jaclvson’s  nomination  his 
victory  was  assured.  It  is  almost  impossible  to 
defeat  a military  hero.  He  was  feted  whenever 
and  wherever  an  occasion  offered.  His  nickname 
was  “ Old  Hickory,”  and  hickory  poles  were  set 
up  in  his  honor  all  over  the  country. 

But  there  are  always  two  sides  to  an  election, 
and  Jaclvson  was  made  to  taste  the  bitterness  of 
malice  and  slander  as  well  as  the  sweets  of  glory. 
Jackson  could  endure  the  malice  and  slander  that 
was  aimed  at  himself,  but  Aviiat  was  directed  against 
his  wife  he  could  not  endure.  He  raged  and  fumed 
at  the  insults  that  were  dealt  her  with  the  fiery 
wrath  of  an  old  soldier. 

Mrs.  Jackson  herself  was  grieved  and  appalled  at 
the  cruel  things  that  were  said  of  her.  She  had 
lived  all  her  life  among  people  who  had  known  and 
loved  her,  in  the  happy  retirement  of  Southern 
country  life.  When  into  the  peace  and  harmony 
of  her  existence  there  broke  as  fierce  a volley  of 
stings  and  taunts  as  ever  issued  from  a political 
campaign,  she  was  powerless  to  resist.  “ Am  I 
that  thing  ? ” she  cried  with  Desdemona. 


242 


RACHEL  JACKSON. 


When  the  news  of  her  husband’s  election  reached 
her  at  The  Hermitage,  she  received  it  quietly. 
“ Well,  for  Mr.  Jackson’s  sake  I’m  glad,”  she  said. 
“ For  iny  own  part,  I never  wished  it.” 

The  ladies  of  Tennessee,  who  were  all  proud  and 
fond  of  Mrs.  Jackson,  were  preparing  to  send  her 
to  the  White  House  as  the  first  lady  of  the  land 
with  the  most  elegant  wardrobe  that  could  he 
fashioned;  and  the  people  of  the  neighborhood 
were  planning  an  elaborate  banquet  in  honor  of  the 
president-elect.  But  on  the  evening  before  the 
fete,  worn  out  with  the  excitement  and  pain  of  the 
contest  through  which  siie  had  been  passing,  the 
mistress  of  The  Hermitage  died.  The  White 
House  was  never  to  be  graced  with  the  sweet,  re- 
posing presence  of  “ Aunt  Rachel.” 

Mrs.  Jackson  was  glad  to  die,  she  said;  the  Gen- 
eral would  miss  her,  but  if  she  had  lived  she  might 
be  in  the  way  of  his  new  life.  It  was  thus  that 
she  reconciled  hemelf  to  leaving  him. 

Andrew  Jackson  proceeded  to  his  place  at  the 
head  of  the  nation,  a lonely,  broken-hearted  man. 
The  memory  of  the  wrong  that  had  been  done  his 
wife  was  always  present  in  his  mind.  Years  after, 
when  he  came  to  die,  he  still  remembered.  The 
clergyman  bent  over  him  and  asked  the  last  ques- 
tions. “Yes,”  said  the  old  General,  and  I thhilv 
the  world  loves  him  the  better  for  his  answer,  “ I 
am  ready ; I ask  forgiveness  ; and  I forgive  all  — 
all  except  those  who  slandered  my  Rachel  to  death.” 


VIL 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK, 

WIFE  OF  JOHN  HANCOCK. 


Born  in  Boston  in  1751. 
Died  in  Boston  about  1832. 


Four-score  years  did  not  rob  her  of  her  native  dignity.”  — 
Ahram  Brown, 

In  the  brave  clays  of  old  a certain,  illustrious 
Roman  purchased  some  few  acres  of  territory  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Rome  at  the  very  moment  when 
Hannibal,  confident  of  success,  was  besieging  the 
imperial  city.  That  Roman,  history  has  deter- 
mined, was  a patriot.  He  put  such  trust  in  his 
country  that  he  dared  to  buy  of  it  when  it  was  on 
the  very  brink  of  captivity. 

The  annals  of  our  own  land  show  us  just  such 
another  patriot  as  he  of  Roman  days.  On  the  28th 
of  August,  in  the  year  1775,  when  the  American 
colonies  were  as  much  convulsed  as  Rome  when 
Hamiibal  was  at  its  gates,  one  of  our  foremost  lib- 
erty men,  we  read,  a Bostonian  of  fortune  and  of 
high  estate,  had  the  audacity,  though  his  country 
was  in  dire  peril  and  a price  was  put  upon  his 

243 


244 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


head,  to  marry  a certain  winsome,  coquettish,  per- 
verse young  lady  love  of  his,  whom  we  have  learned 
to  know  and  reverence  by  the  sweet  name  of  Doro- 
thy Quincy. 

It  must  have  been  that  DoUy’s  lover,  the  Bosto- 
nian of  fortune  and  of  high  estate,  John  Hancock 
by  name,  had  less  confidence  in  Dolly  and  all  her 
whims  and  humors  than  in  the  American  colonies ; 
and  so  he  dared  neglect  his  country  for  his  sweet- 
heart. Certainly  the  American  colonies  were  surer 
tilings  than  Dolly,  and  certainly  the  American  colo- 
nies never  led  any  man  at  their  head  a more  bewil- 
dering dance  than  Dolly  led  her  lover.  Indeed,  so 
unsure  a thing  was  Dolly,  and  so  bewildering  a 
dance  did  she  lead  her  lover  that,  as  she  herself 
used  to  declare  years  after,  she  might  never  have 
been  Mrs.  Hancock  had  it  not  been  for  Mr.  Han- 
cock’s managing  aunt,  Madame  Hancock. 

Madame  Hancock  was  Dorothy’s  Avatchful  friend. 
In  the  days  when  the  young  republic  was  scarcely 
dreamed  of,  and  while  the  citizens  of  Boston  were 
still  living  in  calm  and  undisputed  possession  of 
their  homes,  there  had  been  considerable  visiting 
between  the  Quincy  house  on  Summer  street  and 
the  Hancock  mansion  on  Beacon  street  opposite  the 
Common.  Madame  Hancock  adored  her  nephew, 
and  as  soon  as  she  discovered  his  infatuation  for 
the  charming  little  IMiss  Dorothy  Quincy,  she  made 
it  the  business  of  her  life  to  bring  these  two  young 
people  together. 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


245 


This  business  of  life,  however,  Madame  found  to 
be  difficult.  Dolly  proved  herself  a rebel  in  some- 
thing more  than  the  patriotic  sense  of  the  word. 
She  had  numerous  beaux,  some  of  them  equally 
attractive  in  her  eyes  with  “rosy  John,”  as  her 
lover  of  florid  complexion  was  oftentimes  called. 
In  fact,  she  rather  turned  np  her  nose  at  Mr.  Han- 
cock. She  thought  him  prosy  and  pompous  and 
conceited  and  rather  too  old  for  her.  She  almost 
wished  that  she  had  not  been  worried  into  a reluc- 
tant “Yes”  by  him  and  his  designing  aunt,  and  she 
was  constantly  upsetting  the  plans  of  the  Hancocks, 
and  turning  all  their  counsels  to  naught. 

Such  was  the  concbtion  of  things  in  that  period 
of  grave  doubts  and  fears  just  preceding  the  battle 
of  Lexington.  Boston  was  a place  of  British  oc- 
cupation, and  refugees  from  the  city  had  betaken 
themselves  to  various  parts  of  the  outlying  dis- 
tricts. The  parsonage  at  Lexington  sheltered  an 
interesting  group  of  people  on  that  memorable 
evening  of  the  19th  of  April.  There  were  the 
pastor,  Jonas  Clark,  and  his  wife,  cousins  of  the 
Hancocks ; tliere  was  Madame  Hancock,  sad  over 
the  critical  state  of  American  affairs  ; there  were 
John  Hancock  and  Samuel  Adams,  both  proclaimed 
arch  traitors  by  the  British  government,  and  threat- 
ened with  the  punishment  of  death;  and  Anally 
there  was  Dorothy. 

In  the  dim  candle-light  that  flickered  and  wavered 
across  her  face,  Mistress  Dorothy  looked  serious  and 


246 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


less  perverse  than  usual.  She  knew  that  John 
Hancock  was  at  the  Parsonage,  running  the  risk 
of  capture,  just  because  he  wished  to  be  near  her. 
His  devotion  could  not  but  touch  her  heart  a little. 
^Moreover,  his  danger  made  her  realize  his  worth. 
She  reflected  that  though  he  was  prosy  he  was 
kind,  though  he  was  pompous  he  was  genial,  and 
though  he  was  conceited  he  was  level-headed  and 
was  accounted  a great  man  by  the  people  of  Massa- 
chusetts. For  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  her 
courtship,  she  received  her  lover’s  caresses  without 
petulance  and  returned  his  ardent  glances  with 
something  very  like  love  in  her  eyes. 

They  talked  until  late  into  the  night.  Then  the 
candles  were  snuffed  out,  the  shutters  were  closed, 
the  embers  were  left  smouldering  on  the  hearth, 
and  the  inmates  of  the  Pamonage  were  about  to 
retire  for  the  night,  when  at  twelve  “ by  the  HUage 
clock  ” Paul  Revere  galloped  into  Lexington.  The 
news  that  Revere  brought  set  everything  astir. 
“ The  bells  of  Lexington,  by  Hancock’s  orders,”  we 
are  told,  “ began  to  ring  the  alarm.  The  minute- 
men  flocked  to  the  rendezvous  at  Buckman’s  tavern, 
and  John  Hancock,  determined  to  join  the  farmer’s 
in  their  armed  protest,  spent  the  most  of  the  night 
in  cleaning  his  gun  and  sword,  and  getting  ready 
for  the  figfht  wlrich  he  felt  certain  would  come  with 
the  dawn.” 

We  may  imagine  Mistress  Dorothy’s  excitement 
and  alarm  at  this  trying  time.  Yet,  whatever  her 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


247 


excitement  and  alarm,  she  behaved  as  was  consist- 
ent with  her  usual  calmness  and  reserve,  and  quite 
as  a patriot  maiden  should.  She  helped  to  polish 
up  the  gun  and  sword  ; she  put  on  a smiling  face  ; 
and  she  whispered  words  of  comfort  and  cheer  in 
her  lover’s  ear. 

It  was  not  destined,  however,  that  Dorothy  was 
to  see  her  lover  die  a soldier’s  death  on  the  battle- 
field beneath  her  window.  Hancock  was  not  num- 
bered among  those  who  fired  the  first  shot  of  the 
Revolution.  His  friends  came  to  him  and  urged 
him  not  to  take  part  in  the  encounter.  “You  are 
too  important  a person  just  now,”  they  said,  “ to 
risk  death  or  capture.”  His  associate,  Sam  Adams, 
clapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  declaring : “ This  is 
not  our  business.  We  belong  to  the  Cabinet.” 

So  Hancock  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded  to 
leave  Lexington  before  the  fight  began.  He 
slipped  away  just  as  the  redcoats  were  arriving, 
and  he  stood  upon  a hillock  and  looked  down 
upon  the  battlefield,  side  by  side  with  Sam  Adams, 
when  that  “Father  of  the  Revolution”  exclaimed 
so  enthusiastically,  “ What  a glorious  morning  for 
America ! ” 

Meanwhile  Dorothy  was  standing  at  her  chamber 
window,  catching  glimpses  of  the  fight.  Bullets 
whizzed  j^ast  the  house,  and  one  lodged  in  the  barn 
near  by.  Two  of  the  wounded  men  were  brought 
into  the  parsonage,  and  Dorothy  helped  in  the  ban- 
daging and  nursing.  All  the  naughty,  teasing 


248 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


light,  which  Hancock  knew  only  too  well,  had  left 
her  face,  and  her  expression  was  one  of  serious 
concern  for  the  great  work  which  the  guns  of  Lex- 
ington had  just  begun. 

After  the  British  left  Lexington  and  marched  on 
towards  Concord,  Dolly  and  Madame  Hancock  re- 
ceived a letter  from  Mr.  Hancock,  informing  them 
that  he  and  Mr.  Adams  were  at  W oburn,  stopping 
at  the  home  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Jones.  Mr.  Hancock 
requested  the  ladies  to  drive  over  and  join  him  at 
the  Woburn  parsonage,  and  he  asked  them  to  bring 
with  them  “ the  line  salmon  ” that  had  been  or- 
dered for  dinner  that  day.  The  little  things  of 
life,  you  see,  were  as  much  considered  then  as  now. 
He  spoke  truly  who  said  that  to-day’s  dinner  is 
more  important  than  yesterday’s  revolution.  Han- 
cock could  not  lose  his  relish  for  “ fine  salmon  ” 
just  because  the  “ embattled  farmers  ” had  fired 
“the  shot  heard  round  the  world.” 

In  accordance  with  Mr.  Hancock’s  request,  Dolly 
and  Madame  Hancock  and  the  salmon  took  the  car- 
riage and  drove  over  to  the  Woburn  parsonage. 
Dolly  arrived  there  in  a perveme  mood.  Perhaps 
it  was  her  lover’s  rather  peremptory  summons,  per- 
haps it  was  her  own  feeling  of  reaction  after  the 
danger  that  was  just  gone  through,  or  perhaps  it 
was  the  salmon  that  had  been  deemed  so  very  im- 
portant — at  any  rate  it  was  something  that  made 
her  receive  Mr.  Hancock’s  greeting  distantly  and 
coldly. 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


249 


When  he  and  she  were  alone  together,  she  took 
occasion  to  inform  him,  “ I ’m  going  to  return  to 
my  father’s  house  in  Boston  to-morrow.” 

Her  lover  thought  that  the  time  had  come  for 
him  to  assert  his  authority.  “No,  Dolly,”  he  said, 
“ you  shall  not  return  so  long  as  there  is  a British 
bayonet  left  in  the  city.” 

Mistress  Dorothy  was  a small,  slight  woman,  hut 
in  that  moment  of  revolt  she  seemed  to  rise  in  her 
dignity  and  indignation  far  above  the  tall  gentleman 
who  was  to  be  her  future  lord.  “ Recollect,  Mr. 
Hancock,”  she  remarked  in  cutting  tones,  “ I am 
not  under  your  control  yet.  I shall  go  to  my 
father  to-morrow,  no  matter  what  you  say.” 

She  who  had  been  so  kind  and  devoted  a little 
sweetheart  earlier  in  the  day  had  become  more  pro- 
voking and  wilful  than  ever.  J ohn  Hancock  sighed, 
wondering  at  the  inexplicable  ways  of  woman,  and 
Mistress  Dorothy  went  on  her  way  triumphant. 

Her  way,  however,  did  not  carry  her  to  Boston 
as  she  had  said  it  would.  Madame  Hancock  brought 
feminine  eloquence  and  feminine  tact  to  bear  upon 
the  subject,  and  Dorothy  was  induced  to  go  with 
her  to  Fairfield,  Conn.,  where  the  two  ladies 
became  the  guests  of  Mr.  Thaddeus  Burr,  the  uncle 
of  Aaron  Burr. 

Aaron  was  at  Fairfield  at  the  time  of  Dolly’s 
visit  there  and  for  several  months  he  and  she  were 
members  of  the  same  household.  Dolly  was  natur- 
ally rather  attracted  to  Aaron  Burr,  his  handsome 


250 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


appearance,  his  charming  manners,  and  his  pretty 
fortune.  Aaron,  on  his  part,  was  very  much  taken 
with  the  bewitching  Mistress  Dorothy  Quincy.  In- 
deed, had  it  not  been  for  the  vigilant  aunt,  Mr.  .John 
Hancock  might  have  lost  his  bride.  IMadame  Han- 
cock was  alert  and  wary.  She  interrupted  all 
tete-a-tetes  and  surprised  all  secret  meetings  in 
lovers’  lanes  and  corners.  She  was  everywhere 
that  Dolly  was  and  her  talk  was  always  of  John 
and  of  John’s  goodness. 

Perhaps,  considering  the  circumstances,  it  is  not 
surprising  that  Mistress  Dorothy  grew  a little 
weary  of  .John  and  .John’s  goodness,  and  that  she 
neglected  to  answer  all  the  young  man’s  pleading 
letters.  Nevertheless,  when  we  read  the  pleading 
letters,  it  must  he  confessed  that  our  sympathies 
are  rather  more  with  the  abused  lover  than  with 
the  coquettish  fair  one  who  was  enjoying  herself  so 
blissfully  in  the  absence  of  her  betrothed. 

“ My  dear  Dolljq”  writes  John,  in  the  midst  of 
the  worries  and  cares  of  liis  position  as  president 
of  the  Continental  Congress,  “ J am  almost  prevailed 
on  to  think  that  my  letters  to  you  are  not  read,  for 
J cannot  obtain  a reply.  J have  asked  a million 
questions,  and  not  an  answer  to  one.  J begged 
you  to  let  me  know  Avhat  tlihigs  my  aunt  wanted, 
and  you ; but  not  one  word  in  answer.  J really 
take  it  extreme  unkind.  Pray,  my  dear,  use  not  so 
much  ceremony  and  reservedness ; why  can’t  ^’ou 
use  freedom  in  Avriting  ? Be  not  afraid  of  me ; J 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


251 


want  long  letters.  I am  glad  the  little  things  I 
sent  yon  were  agreeable.  Why  did  you  not  write 
me  of  the  to])  of  the  umbrella  ? I am  so  sorry  it 
was  spoiled,  hut  I will  send  you  another  by  my 
express,  which  will  go  in  a few  days.  Do  write 
your  father  I should  be  glad  to  hear  from  him,  and 

1 beg,  my  Dear  Dolly,  you  will  write  me  often,  and 
long  letters.  I will  forgive  the  past  if  you  will 
mend  in  future.  Do  ask  my  aunt  to  make  up  and 
send  me  a Watch  String,  and  do  you  make  up  an- 
other and  send  me ; I wear  them  out  fast.  I want 
some  little  thing  of  your  doing.  Remember  me  to 
all  Friends  with  you  as  if  named.  I am  called  on 
and  must  obey.  I have  sent  you  by  Dr.  Church  in  a 
paper  box  directed  to  you  the  following  things  for 
your  acceptance,  and  which  I insist  you  wear.  If 
you  do  not,  I shall  think  the  Donor  is  the  objection. 

2 pair  white  silk  ) stockings  which  I think 

4 pair  white  thread  ) will  fit  you. 

1 pair  Black  Satin  ) shoes,  the  other  shall  he 

1 pair  Black  Calem  Co.  ) sent  when  done. 

1 very  pretty  light  hat 

1 neat  airy  Summer  Cloak  (I  asked  Doctor  Church). 

2 caps. 

1 Faun. 

“ I wish  these  may  please  you,  I shall  be  gratified 
if  they  do.  Pray  write  me,  1 will  attend  to  all 
your  commands.  Adieu,  my  dear  Gu-1,  and  believe 
me  to  be  with  great  Esteem  and  Affection,  Yours 
without  Reserve,  John  Hancock.” 


252 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


One  wonders  if  Mistress  Dorothy  was  moved  to 
repentance  by  this  sad  and  touching  reproof.  It  is 
to  be  hoped  that  she  was,  and  that  she  sent  her  anx- 
ious lover  a sweet  little  note  of  thanks  for  the  white 
stockings  and  all  the  other  apparel  which  he  had 
been  pleased  to  bestow  upon  her.  Moreover  it  is  to 
be  hoped  that,  in  the  letter  which  she  sent  to  liim. 
Mistress  Dorothy  enclosed  the  longed-for  “ watch 
string.”  That  “ watch  string,”  we  know,  would 
have  cheered  and  sustained  the  weary  president  of 
Congress  througli  countless  trials  and  hardsliips. 
Little  worries  are  sometimes  heavier  than  big  ones. 
The  thought  that  his  dear  Dolly  was  forgetting 
him,  that  she  neglected  to  answer  his  letters,  that 
the  umljrella  which  he  sent  her  was  broken,  and 
other  similar  trifles  troubled  John  Hancock  more 
than  the  mental  strain  under  which  he  labored 
and  the  anxiety  which  he  felt  about  the  welfare  of 
his  country. 

It  is  not  known  whether  or  not  Mistress  Dorothy 
sent  the  “ watch  string,”  nor  is  it  determined  just 
what  she  said  in  answer  to  her  lover’s  pleading  let- 
ters. But  certain  it  is  that  Mr.  Hancock’s  court- 
ship took  a happy  turn,  and  that  on  the  28th  of 
August  of  that  same  memorable  year  of  1775  he 
and  his  “ dear  Dolly  ” were  married. 

Hancock  came  all  the  way  from  Philadelphia 
and  his  duties  as  president  there  to  the  distant 
town  of  Fairfield,  Conn.,  to  cany  off  his  lady  love. 
The  wedding  was  a gay  one  and  the  festiAuties  were 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


253 


kept  up  all  the  night.  Early  the  following  morn- 
ing the  president  and  his  bride  set  out  in  their 
coach  and  four,  attended  by  their  guard  and  out- 
riders, for  their  Philadelphia  home. 

For  two  years,  while  Hancock  remained  presi- 
dent of  Congress,  they  lived  at  Philadelphia.  She 
who  had  been  so  perverse  and  coquettish  a young 
sweetheart  proved  an  excellent  helpmeet.  It  was 
Mistress  Dorothy  who  saw  that  her  husband’s  dig- 
nity was  supported  in  a style  that  befitted  his  office. 
It  was  Mistress  Dorothy  who  acted  as  his  private  sec- 
retary and  confidential  clerk.  She  neatly  trimmed 
off  the  rough  edges  of  the  paper  money  issued 
by  the  Congress  as  continental  currency  and  signed 
by  John  Hancock  as  president,  and  she  put  the 
packages  carefully  in  place  in  the  saddlebags  in 
which  they  were  borne  by  swift  riders  to  different 
parts  of  the  country  to  meet  the  bills  of  the  gov- 
ernment, and  pay  the  wages  of  the  continental 
troops. 

Yet  in  spite  of  Dolly’s  helpfulness  and  care,  she 
seems  to  have  occasioned  a few  small  clouds  on  tlie 
domestic  horizon  of  her  lord.  We  find  the  presi- 
dent of  Congress  deserted  and  alone  for  a certain 
period  of  time  in  March  of  the  year  1777.  His 
wife,  with  their  little  daughter,  Lydia,  was  away 
in  Baltimore,  and  he  was  unhappy  and  awaiting 
her  homecoming  rather  impatiently.  The  presi- 
dent, it  would  appear,  though  accounted  a great 
man  by  the  people  of  his  day,  was  very  human  and 


254 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


quite  like  other  men  in  his  inability  to  look  after 
himself  and  Ins  household.  His  helplessness  and 
his  dependence  upon  his  Dolly  are  certainly  amus- 
ing. His  letters  to  her  present  a vivid  picture  of 
his  sufferings  in  her  absence,  and  introduce  us  with 
delightful  intimacy  into  the  domestic  privacy  of  the 
Hancock  home. 

“ My  dear,  dear  Dolly,”  he  writes,  “ I lead  a 
doleful,  lonesome  life.  On  Saturday  I sat  down 
to  Dinner  at  the  little  table  with  F olger,  on  a piece 
of  Roast  Beef  with  Potatoes.  W e drank  your  health 
and  all  our  Baltimore  friends.  Last  night  Miss 
Lucy  came  to  see  me,  and  this  morning  while  I 
was  at  Brealrfast  on  Tea  with  a pewter  teaspoon, 
Mrs.  Yard  came  in.  She  could  not  stay  to  Break- 
fast with  me.  I spend  my  evenings  at  home,  snuff 
my  candles  with  a pair  of  scissors,  which  Lucy 
seeing  sent  me  a pair  of  snuffers,  and  seeing  me 
dip  the  gravy  out  of  the  Dish  with  rrrj-  pewter  tea- 
spoorr,  she  sent  me  a large  silver  spoorr  and  two 
silver  tea-spoons  — so  that  I am  now  quite  rich. 
I shall  rrrake  out  as  well  as  I can,  hut  I assure  you, 
rrry  Dear  Soul,  I long  to  have  you  here,  and  I krrow 
you  rvill  he  as  expeditious  as  yorr  can.  When  I 
part  frorrr  yorr  again  it  rrrust  be  an  extraordinary 
occasiorr.  However  unsettled  things  rrray  he,  I 
corrld  not  help  sendirrg  for  yorr,  as  I camrot  live  in 
this  way.  IMay  every  blessing  of  an  Indulgent 
providence  attend  you.  I most  sincerely  vdsh  you 
a good  journey  and  hope  I shall  soon,  very  soon. 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


255 


have  the  happiness  of  seeing  you.  With  the  utmost 
affection  and  Love,  My  Dear  Dolly,  I am  yours 
forever,  John  Hancock.  Mrs.  Washington  got  here 
on  Saturday.  I went  to  see  her,  she  told  me  she 
Drank  tea  Avith  you.” 

Again,  on  the  following  night,  in  the  same 
mournful  strain,  the  president  of  Congress  ad- 
dresses the  mistress  of  his  heart  and  home.  “ My 
Dearest  Dolly:”  he  says,  “No  Congress  to-day 
and  I have  been  as  busily  employed  as  you  can 
conceive,  quite  lonesome  and  in  a domestic  situa- 
tion that  ought  to  be  relieved  as  speedily  as  possi- 
ble. This  Relief  depends  upon  yourself  and  the 
greater  Despatch  you  make  and  the  sooner  you 
arrive  here,  the  more  speedy  will  he  my  relief.  I 
despatched  Harry,  McClosky,  and  Dennis  this 
morning  with  Horses  and  a Waggon  as  winged 
Messengers  to  bring  you  along.  God  grant  jmu  a 
speedy  and  safe  Journey  to  me.  If  in  the  prose- 
cution of  your  Journey  you  can  avoid  lodging  at 
the  head  of  the  Elk,  I wish  you  would,  it  is  not  so 
good  as  the  other  houses.  I wish  you  to  make  your 
journey  as  agreeable  as  possible.  Am  I not  to 
have  another  letter  from  you  ? Surely  I must.  I 
shall  send  off  Mr.  Rush  or  Tailor  to-morrow  or 
next  day  to  meet  you.  I wish  I could  do  better 
for  you,  but  we  must  Ruff  it.  I am  so  harassed 
with  applications  and  have  been  sending  off  ex- 
presses to  call  all  the  Members  here,  that  I have 
as  much  as  I can  turn  my  hands  to.  I don’t  get 


256 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


clown  to  dinner.  1 write,  catch  a bite,  and  then  at 
it  again.  Here  Jo  comes  in  with  a plate  of  minced 
Veal,  that  I must  stop.  I shall  take  the  plate  in 
one  hand,  the  knife  in  the  other,  without  cloth  or 
any  comfort  and  eat  a little  and  then  to  writing, 
for  I have  not  Room  on  the  Table  to  put  a plate. 
I am  up  to  the  eyes  in  papers.  Adieu  for  the 
present.  Supper  is  over.  No  Relish,  nor  shall  I 
have  till  I have  you  here.  I shall  expect  jmu  on 
Tuesday  evening.  I shall  have  Fires  made  and 
everything  ready  for  your  reception,  tho’  I don’t 
mean  to  hurry  you  beyond  measure.  Do  as  you 
like.  Don’t  fatigue  yourself  in  Travelling  too 
fast.  The  Opinion  of  some  seems  to  be  that  the 
Troops  will  leave  New  York,  where  bound  none 
yet  know ; one  thing  I know  that  they  can’t  at  pres- 
ent come  here.  Perhaps  they  are  going  to  Boston 
or  up  North  River.  Time  will  discover.  Never 
fear,  we  shall  get  the  day  finally  with  the  smiles 
of  heaven.  Do  take  precious  care  of  our  dear  little 
Lydia.  Adieu.  I long  to  see  You.  Take  care  of 
yourself.  I am,  my  Dear  Girl,  Yours  most  affec- 
tionately, John  Hancock.  Do  let  Harry  buy  and 
bring  1 or  2 Bushells  of  Parsnips.  Bring  all  the 
wine,  none  to  be  got  here.” 

Thus  writes  the  president  of  Congress,  ever 
ruminating  on  his  Dolly,  her  absence  from  him, 
and  his  desolation  when  deprived  of  her  society. 
His  lettem,  in  general,  tell  the  story  of  Mistress 
Dorothy’s  importance  in  her  home  and  of  her  hus- 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


257 


band’s  devoted  love  for  her.  They  occasionally 
give  glimpses,  too,  of  Mistress  Dorothy’s  character 
as  a wife.  It  would  appear,  from  some  of  these 
letters,  that  the  young  woman  had  brought  a sug- 
gestion of  those  provoking  qualities  that  had  been 
hers  as  a sweetheart  into  her  relations  with  her 
husband.  To  speak  frankly,  one  would  have  to 
admit  that  Dolly  was  up  to  her  old  tricks.  She 
treated  her  lover  married  as  she  liad  treated  him 
single,  and  he  who  was  so  prompt  and  lengthy  in 
his  epistolary  duties  towards  herself  was  forced, 
now  and  then,  to  give  way  to  plaints  and  plead- 
ings over  her  lack  of  reciprocity  in  letter-writing. 
“ Not  a line  from  you,”  was  his  pi’otesting  cry. 
“Not  a single  word  have  I heard,  which  you  may 
know  affects  me  not  a little.  I must  submit  and 
will  only  say  that  I expected  oftener  to  have  been 
the  object  of  your  attention.”  As  one  reads  his 
lament,  one  wonders  at  Dolly’s  heartlessness  in  so 
wounding  the  feelings  of  her  lord. 

And  yet,  there  are  generally  two  sides  to  every 
matrimonial  difference.  Certainly  Mr.  Hancock’s 
tone  was  a little  querulous  at  times,  and  no  doubt 
it  annoyed  Mistress  Dorothy.  Moreover,  Mr.  Han- 
cock still  retained,  as  a married  man,  all  that  pom- 
posity that  had  so  aggravated  his  “ dear  Dolly  ” in 
her  maiden  days.  Mistress  Dorothy  probably  took 
this  pomposity  of  his  .into  account  in  all  her  rela- 
tions with  him,  and  decided  that  a little  ignoring 
did  him  good  and  made  him  a humbler  husband. 


258 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


Ill  spite  of  the  clouds  that  occasionally  arose  to 
dim  their  domestic  horizon,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hancock 
were  for  the  most  part  a happy  couple.  Their 
home  in  Boston,  the  old  Hancock  mansion,  to  which 
they  retired  so  soon  as  Mr.  Hancock’s  duties  as 
president  of  the  Congress  expired,  was  the  scene 
of  many  joyous  occasions.  There  John  Hancock 
and  his  wife  kept  open  house,  entertaining  in  a 
most  royal  fashion,  and  many  were  the  guests  who 
learned  to  bless  the  generous  housewifery  and  hos- 
pitality of  charming  Mistress  Dorothy. 

Indeed,  so  very  generous  was  Mistress  Dorothy 
in  her  housewifery  and  hospitality,  that  her  poor 
cook  was  quite  worn  out  with  all  the  breakfast, 
dinner,  and  supper  getting.  At  least  three  fat  tur- 
keys, we  are  told,  had  to  be  lulled  each  night  for 
the  guests  of  the  following  day,  and  a hundred  and 
fifty  of  this  feathered  kind  had  to  be  locked  up  in 
the  big  coach  house  at  night,  and  turned  out  in 
the  day  time  to  feed  in  the  pasture  where  now  we 
see  the  Boston  State  House  ivith  its  gilded  dome. 

It  was  not  only  the  cook  who  was  overtaxed  by 
the  entertainment  of  so  much  company.  The 
mistress  of  the  house,  even  more  than  the  cook, 
Avas  sometimes  put  to  “ her  wits’  end,”  so  it  has 
been  recorded,  to  keep  up  with  her  husband’s 
abounding  welcome.  But,  as  we  hai'e  seen,  Dor- 
othy Hancock  ivas  a calm,  self-possessed,  and 
capable  young  Avomau.  She  proAmd  hei'self  equal 
to  all  emergencies. 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


259 


One  day  in  the  year  1778,  John  Hancock  invited 
the  Count  d’Estaing  and  thirty  of  his  officers  to 
breakfast  with  him  next  day.  The  count  accepted 
the  invitation  with  great  pleasure  and  then,  in  all 
courtesy,  enlarged  upon  it.  He  read  Mr.  Hancock’s 
meaning  to  he  that  he  and  all  his  officers  and  his 
midshipmen  as  well  were  included  in  the  invitation. 
So  early  next  morning  the  breakfast  guests,  the 
count,  the  officers,  and  the  midshipmen  came  stream- 
ing  up  from  the  wharf,  taking  their  way  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  Hancock  mansion.  “ The  whole  Com- 
mon,” so  Mistress  Dorothy  declared  years  after  when 
she  was  narrating  the  story,  “ was  bedizened  with 
lace.”  As  soon  as  he  saw  the  Frenchmen  advancing 
in  such  throngs,  Mr.  Hancock  sent  a hasty  message 
to  his  wife,  telling  of  the  “enlargement”  of  the 
invitation  and  begging  her  to  prepare  breakfast  for 
one  hundred  and  twenty  more  than  the  bidden 
number. 

History  does  not  relate  what  Mistress  Dorothy 
said.  It  only  relates  what  she  did.  She  evidently 
made  up  her  mind  to  maintain  her  husband’s  repu- 
tation and  her  own  as  to  their  ability  to  keep  “ open 
house.”  Even  while  the  guests  were  in  sight  she 
sent  her  servants  flying  hither  and  thither,  to 
make  ready  for  the  great  breakfast  party.  Some 
were  set  to  spreading  twelve  pounds  of  butter  on 
generous  slices  of  the  Hancock  bread.  Others 
were  sent  out  on  foraging  expeditions  to  neighbors’ 
houses  for  cake.  A messenger  was  despatched  to 


260 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


the  guard  on  the  Common  presenting  Mrs.  Han- 
cock’s compliments  and  bidding  him  order  his  men 
to  milli  all  the  cows  grazing  on  the  Common  and 
send  the  milk  to  Mrs.  Hancock  at  once.  The  gar- 
den was  stripped  of  its  flowers  and  the  orchard 
of  its  fruit,  and  the  breakfast  for  two  hundred 
guests  was  ready. 

Just  as  the  count  and  his  retinue  mounted 
the  stone  steps  that  led  to  the  Hancock  man- 
sion, Mistress  Dorothy  appeared  in  the  doorway 
of  her  reception  room.  She  looked  ver}^  calm  and 
unruffled,  dressed  in  an  exquisite  gown  of  India 
muslin,  with  delicate  lavender  trimmings.  There 
was  the  light  of  victory  in  her  eyes.  She  was  able 
to  receive  her  guests  with  the  usual  cordiality  and 
charm. 

It  is  on  record  that  the  guests  enjoyed  IMistress 
Dorothy’s  hasty  home-made  banquet  to  the  full. 
One  Frenchman,  it  is  said,  showed  liis  appreciation 
by  drinking  seventeen  cups  of  tea  — ^listress  Dor- 
othy herself  counted  them.  The  midshipmen,  it 
appears,  were  a trifle  unruly.  Thej^  made  raids  on 
the  cake,  and  captured  it  from  the  servants  who 
Avere  carrying  it  through  the  hall.  But  IMistress 
Dorothy  put  them  to  rout.  She  rose  m her  dignity 
and  rescued  the  cake  and,  hiding  it  in  napkin-coA'- 
ered  baskets,  superintended  its  safe  conduct  into 
the  dining-room,  where  it  Avas  serA'ed  as  dessert  at 
the  breakfast. 

IMistress  Dorothy  certainly  shoAved  herself,  in  the 


ONE  FRENCHMAN  SHOWED  HIS  APPRECIATION  BY  DRINKING  SEVENTEEN 
CUPS  OF  TEA. 


fc<- 


X 

. « 


i 


i 


'i 


< . 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


261 


management  of  her  breakfast  party,  a very  capable 
yonng  woman.  And  she  was  as  clever  as  she  was 
capable.  She  did  not  forget  the  trick  that  the 
count  had  played  on  her,  and  when  the  time  came 
she  had  her  revenge.  The  count,  who  was  very 
grateful  for  the  hospitality  that  she  had  shown  him, 
desired  to  make  some  return.  So  he  invited  Mistress 
Dorothy  to  come  and  visit  his  fleet,  and  to  bring 
her  friends  with  her.  The  young  Boston  dame  ac- 
cepted the  invitation  smilingly.  The  day  for  the 
count’s  “ party  ” arrived,  and  she  appeared  at  the 
wharf  in  company  with  five  hundred  “ friends.” 
Of  course  the  count  was  as  cool  as  Mistress  Doro- 
thy had  been,  and  quite  equal  to  the  joke.  The 
five  hundred  guests  were  transported  to  the  fleet, 
and  a very  jolly  day  was  spent  among  the  French 
officers  in  dancing  and  tea  drinking,  and  the  send- 
ing off  of  fireworks,  and  universal  merry-making. 
The  general  verdict  was  that  “ Dolly  ” and  the 
count  were  even. 

In  the  days  that  followed  the  entertainment  of 
the  French  fleet.  Mistress  Dorothy  had  cause,  more 
than  ever  before,  to  keep  open  house.  America 
soon  became  a repirblic  and  Massachusetts  was  made 
“ a free  and  independent  State  ” with  a . constitu- 
tion and  a governor.  Then  it  was  John  Hancock, 
the  revered  citizen  of  Massachusetts,  the  “ wealthi- 
est rebel  ” in  the  State,  who  was  chosen  its  first 
governor.  For  ten  years  John  Hancock  served  as 
governor  of  Massachusetts,  and  he  died  in  1793, 


262 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


Governor  Hancock  still.  To  the  end  his  hospitality 
was  boundless,  and  Mistress  Dorothy  was  kept  very 
busy  with  her  duties  as  “ the  governor’s  lady.”  We 
may  be  sure  she  filled  her  high  position  well,  and 
entertained  her  many  guests  with  characteristic 
dignity,  ability,  and  ease. 

In  their  fine  old  colonial  mansion,  a house  that 
was  still  standing  on  Beacon  street  far  into  the  mem- 
ory of  the  Boston  of  to-day.  Governor  Hancock  and 
his  wife  lived  in  a grandeur  of  style  that  was  quite 
dazzling  to  the  simple  townsfolk  of  their  own  day. 
The  house  itself  was  deemed  “ a most  imposing  edi- 
fice ” by  the  people  of  the  young  repubhc.  It  was  of 
stone,  and  charmed  all  with  its  dormer  windows,  its 
overhanging  balcony,  and  its  high  steps  and  balus- 
trades. About  the  house  were  pretty  flower  beds 
bordered  with  box,  and  also  numerous  mulberiy 
trees  and  fruit  trees.  The  house  was  furnished 
Avith  considerable  taste  and  elegance.  Most  of  the 
furniture,  wall  papers,  and  draperies  had  been  im- 
ported from  England.  The  great  hall  of  wood, 
sixty  feet  in  length,  was  hung  A\fith  pictures  of 
game  and  hunting  scenes,  and  the  Avails  of  the  re- 
ception room  and  parlor  shoAved  many  a handsome 
portrait  and  rare  little  prints  and  etchings.  But 
it  was  in  the  dining-room  that  the  Hancock  magnif- 
icence reached  its  climax.  EAmn  the  best  furnished 
dining-table  of  the  day,  we  are  told,  would  not  sur- 
pass Hancock’s  Avhen  glistening  Avith  four  elaborate 
silver  chafing  dishes,  four  silver  butter  boats,  as- 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


263 


paragus  tongs,  and  six  heavy  silver  candlesticks 
with  snuffers  and  tray  to  match.  The  six  dozen 
pewter  plates,  marked  with  the  family  crest,  the 
pride  of  the  governor,  were  always  kept  at  the  high- 
est point  of  brightness.  So,  too,  were  the  silver 
tankards,  and  the  silver  knives  and  forks  and 
spoons.  The  Hancock  tahle-linen,  it  has  been 
reported,  was  “ the  most  genteel  in  the  country.” 
And  the  viands  were  in  keeping  with  the  table 
ware.  The  Hancock  dinners  of  venison  and  of 
cod-fish,  so  tradition  narrates,  were  famed  far  and 
wide. 

Indeed,  such  was  the  splendor  and  luxury  of  the 
governor’s  way  of  living,  that  some  people  nick- 
named him  “King  Hancock.”  They  told  of*how 
he  appeared  on  public  occasions  “ with  all  the 
panoply  and  state  of  an  oriental  prince,”  and  of  how 
he  was  attended  by  “ four  servants  dressed  in  su- 
perb livery,  mounted  on  fine  horses  richly  capari- 
soned, and  escorted  by  fifty  horsemen  with  drawn 
sabres,  the  one  half  of  whom  preceded  and  the 
other  half  followed  his  carriage.” 

The  carriage  in  which  the  governor  is  said  to  have 
ridden  in  the  royal  manner  described  was  a most 
splendid  affair  for  those  days.  Its  appointments 
had  all  been  carefully  ordered  from  London.  As 
it  rolled  through  the  narrow  streets  of  Boston,  car- 
rying John  Hancock  and  Mistress  Dorothy  to  some 
one  of  their  numerous  social  functions,  the  citizens 
always  turned  to  admire.  They  were  proud  to 


264 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


think  that  their  governor  and  his  lady  could  ride 
in  such  magnificence. 

Of  course  all  the  grandeur  that  appeared  in  the 
Hancock  way  of  living  showed  also  in  their  mode  of 
dress.  We  read  of  the  crimson  velvet  coat  and  vest 
in  which  the  master  of  the  house  was  attired,  of  his 
white  silk  embroidered  waistcoat,  and  of  his  silk 
stockings  and  handkerchiefs  imported  from  Lon- 
don. The  mistress  of  the  house,  we  are  told,  did 
not  wear  the  crimson  velvet  of  her  husband’s 
choosing,  only  because  she  thought  the  color  and 
material  inappropriate  for  her  slight  figure.  She 
preferred  white  muslin,  and  is  reported  to  have 
paid  six  dollars  a yard  for  a piece  of  India  muslin 
before  it  was  cut  from  the  loom.  We  may  well 
believe  that  nothing  was  deemed  too  fine  for  the 
babies,  Lydia  and  John.  Their  christening  robes 
came  all  the  way  from  London,  and  were  of  em- 
broidered India  muslin,  with  elaborate  trimmings 
of  tlmead  lace. 

Accounts  such  as  these  of  John  Hancock’s  fine 
clothes  and  handsome  equipages  and  luxurious 
home  naturalljr  suggest  that  possibly  John  Han- 
cock had  not  lost  any  of  his  former  pomposity  amid 
all  this  magnificence.  And,  as  a matter  of  fact,  he 
had  not.  Not  even  Mistress  Dorothy,  with  all  her 
independent  airs  and  graces,  could  entmely  subdue 
her  husband’s  pride  in  his  own  dignity  and  impor- 
tance. It  was  the  president,  George  Washington, 
who  finally  taught  the  much-needed  lesson,  and 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


265 


made  John  Hancock  realize  that  John  Hancock 
was  not  quite  the  great  man  that  he  thought  he 
was. 

In  the  fall  of  the  year  1789,  when  Hancock  was 
in  office,  Washington  in  the  course  of  his  tour 
through  the  Northern  States,  paid  a visit  to  Boston. 
He  came  as  president  of  the  United  States,  and  all 
Boston  turned  out  to  welcome  him  — all  Boston, 
with  the  exception  of  Governor  Hancock. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  John  Hancock  was 
found  wanting  in  hospitality.  While  the  rest  of 
Boston  was  paying  its  respects  to  George  Washing- 
ton, he  remained  at  home  waiting  for  George  W ash- 
ington  to  pay  his  respects  to  him.  Of  course  it  is 
needless  to  state  that  he  waited  in  vain  for  George 
W ashington. 

It  was  a question  of  dignity.  Hancock  was  a 
believer  in  States  rights.  He  held  that  Massachu- 
setts was  a sovereign  State,  and  that  he,  the  gov- 
ernor of  Massachusetts,  was  as  important  a person 
as  the  president  of  the  United  States.  It  was 
Washington’s  duty,  he  said,  to  pay  the  first  call. 
But  Washington  was  a Federalist.  He  maintained 
that  the  Union  was  paramount,  and  that  the  presi- 
dent was  elevated  by  his  office  above  the  governor 
of  the  State.  It  was  Hancock’s  duty,  he  said,  to 
pay  the  first  call. 

In  this  little  matter  of  difference  between  the 
president  and  the  governor,  the  citizens  of  Boston, 
Federalists  and  anti-Federalists  alike,  sided  with 


266 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


Washington.  They  were  exasperated  at  Avhat  they 
deemed  Hancock’s  lack  of  courtesy.  Hancock 
speedily  saw  that  he  was  in  the  Avrong.  He  took 
council  Avith  Mistress  Dorothy.  Then  his  pomposity 
Avas  laid  aside,  and  he  Avent  forth  and  “ made  his 
manners  ” to  the  president,  alleging  as  an  excuse 
for  his  apparent  want  of  hospitahty  an  attack  of 
the  gout.  Gout  is  a most  unpleasant  thing,  hut 
it  has  its  advantag'es.  So  thought  Mistress  Dor- 
othy. 

The  president  received  the  governor  cordially, 
and  returned  his  call  Amry  promptly.  When  George 
Washington  arrived  at  the  Hancock  mansion,  we 
may  he  sure  that  Mistress  Dorothy  was  there  to 
receive  him,  arrayed  iu  her  prettiest  gown  and  her 
brightest  smiles.  She  did  the  honors  of  the  goA'- 
ernor’s  house,  we  are  told,  Avith  the  utmost  gra- 
ciousness and  ease.  Washington’s  customary 
reserve  and  reticence  quite  vanished  under  the 
charm  of  her  conAmi’sation  and  manner.  He  was, 
so  Mistress  Dorothy  declares,  “ A^ery  sociable  and 
pleasant  during  the  Avhole  visit.”  As  for  Mistress 
Dorothy  herself,  she  of  coui-se  was  A'ery  liappy  in 
the  society  of  her  distuiguished  guest,  and  in  the 
realization  that  peace  Avas  restored  hetAA'een  lier 
husband  and  the  president.  WhateA'er  ma}^  haA’e 
been  Mistress  Dorothy’s  perverse  and  teasing  ways, 
she  certainly  Avas  a peacemaker  at  heart. 

In  the  year  1793  John  Hancock  died.  Mistress 
Dorothy  found  herself  a widow.  Both  her  childi’en 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


267 


had  died  before,  and  Mrs,  Hancock  felt  herself  to 
be  very  much  alone  in  the  world.  She  had  a sympa- 
thizer, however,  in  her  husband’s  old  and  trusted 
friend,  James  Scott.  Her  sympathizer  grew  into 
the  lover,  and  in  the  year  1796  Mistress  Dorothy 
Hancock  became  Mistress  Dorothy  Scott.  Mis- 
tress Dorothy  survived  her  second  husband  many 
years. 

In  her  last  days,when  she  was  known  as  Madame 
Scott,  she  delighted  all  with  her  bright  conver- 
sation and  interesting  reminiscences.  She  was 
hospitable  to  the  end.  She  always  laid  an  extra 
plate  at  table  for  any  one  who  might  call.  “ I often 
ran  into  Aunt  Dorothy’s  from  school  at  noon  in- 
termission,” wrote  one  of  Mistress  Dorothy’s  young 
friends,  “ where  the  extra  plate  was  at  my  service 
and  the  venerable  lady  ready  to  greet  me  with  a 
smile.” 

Perhaps  the  pleasantest  happening  for  Mistress 
Dorothy  in  her  last  days  was  the  call  that  she  re- 
ceived from  the  aged  Marquis  de  la  Fayette.  They 
who  had  known  each  other  as  the  boy  general  and 
the  Boston  belle  of  Revolutionary  days  met,  an  old 
man  and  an  old  woman.  The  sight  of  each  other 
brought  back  old  times  to  them  very  vividly,  and 
those  who  witnessed  their  interview  said  they  talked 
together  as  if  only  a summer  had  passed  since  their 
acquaintance  of  the  long  ago. 

It  is  with  the  light  of  that  long  ago  about  her 
that  we  like  best  to  leave  Mistress  Dorothy.  In 


268 


DOROTHY  HANCOCK. 


the  clays  of  the  Revolution  and  of  that  earliest 
period  of  the  young  republic  she  stands  forth,  a 
sweet  and  charming  figure,  as  much  loved  for  the 
dignity  and  grace  with  which  she  did  the  honors 
of  the  governor’s  mansion  as  for  that  provoking 
coquetry  of  hers  that  so  bewildered  and  bewitched 
a certain  very  Ifistoric  John. 


VIII. 


EMILY  MARSHALL, 

FAMILIARLY  KNOWN  AS  “THE  BEAUTIFUL 
EMILY  MARSHALL.” 


Born  in  Cambridge  in  1807. 
Died  in  Boston  in  1836. 


“ She  Stood  before  us  a reversion  to  that  faultless  type  of 
structure  which  artists  have  imagined  in  the  past,  and  to  that 
ideal  loveliness  of  feminine  disposition  which  poets  have  placed 
in  the  mythical  golden  age.”  — Josiah  Quincy 

There  have  been  other  gardens  oi  Eden  than 
that  primeval  one.  Onr  first  mother  was  not  the 
only  Eve  who  walked  embowered  amid  paradisiacal 
trees  and  shrubs  and  flowers.  In  the  teens  of  our 
last  century  as  beautiful  a little  Eve  as  ever  set 
the  world  to  loving  and  adoring  had  her  own  little 
garden  of  Eden.  Hers  was  a Boston  Eden.  It 
grew  and  flourished  about  her  father’s  house  on 
Brattle  street. 

This  beautiful  little  Eve  of  a century  ago  had 
but  to  peep  over  the  wall  of  her  Eden  and  there  on 
the  other  side  was  a city.  The  city  that  she  saw 
was  a great  city  in  her  eyes,  but  very  small  and 

269 


270 


EMILY  MARSHALL. 


primitive  it  would  have  seemed  to  us  of  this  later 
day.  Then  Pemberton  hill  was  still  a park,  the 
Common  a pasture  washed  on  the  south  and  west 
by  the  tidal  Charles,  Bowdoin  square  a verdant 
mall,  and  on  Summer  street,  that  avenue  of  grace- 
ful elms  and  pleasant  dwelling-houses,  might  still 
he  heard,  occasionally,  the  tinkling  music  of  cow- 
bells. 

Yet  however  small  and  primitive  it  may  appear, 
viewed  in  the  light  of  our  own  generation,  the  city 
on  the  other  side  of  the  wall  was  a wonderful  place 
to  the  beautiful  little  Eve  who  dwelt  in  the  heart 
of  it.  And  lier  own  little  garden  of  Eden  was  not 
the  least  wonderful  thing  about  it.  The  garden 
was  not  named  without  reason.  It  was  a place  of 
luxuriant  growth,  and  of  a joyous,  sunshiny  atmos- 
phere. The  children  whose  pla3.-ground  it  was, 
the  beautiful  little  Eve  and  her  brothers  and  sister’s, 
liad  given  it  its  name,  because  in  then’  young  fan- 
cies it  seemed  a paradise  like  that  of  which  their 
Bible  stories  told  them.  They  liked  to  think  that 
a hit  of  that  primeval  Eden  had  fallen  and  taken 
root  at  their  father’s  doorstep. 

The  one  to  whom  this  garden  of  Eden  reallj’  be- 
longed, the  children’s  father,  was  Josiah  Marshall, 
a Boston  merchant  in  the  China  trarle.  He  was  a 
man  well  known  in  the  business  world  about  liim, 
and  everywhere  respected  for  his  energy,  abilitj-, 
and  active  kindness.  Mrs.  Marshall,  the  children’s 
mother,  was  a woman  of  pleasing  manner’s  and  of 


EMILY  MARSHALL. 


271 


great  personal  beauty.  Altogether  the  Marshall 
home  was  a most  attractive  home,  quite  like  a 
story-hook  home.  The  children,  all  of  them,  re- 
flected in  some  measure  the  father’s  wisdom  and 
the  mother’s  grace  of  person.  But  the  golden  in- 
heritance of  charms  and  virtues  fell  upon  her  who 
has  been  called  the  Eve  of  her  little  Eden,  and  who 
is  best  known  as  “ the  beautiful  Emily  Marshall.” 

The  beautiful  Emily  Marshall  was  born  on  an 
ancient  estate  in  Cambridge,  but  early  in  her 
career  the  family  moved  to  the  Brattle-street  house 
and  its  adjacent  Eden.  The  Brattle-street  house 
was  known  as  the  White  House.  It  was  built 
upon  a terrace  with  steps  leading  down  to  the 
square.  It  was  a picturesque  old  mansion  and  had 
held  several  distinguished  tenants,  among  them 
John  Adams  in  the  days  of  his  young  barristership. 
This  Brattle-street  house  was  Emily’s  first  remem- 
bered home. 

Traditions  of  the  beautiful  Emily  Marshall’s 
childhood  are  few,  but  those  few  are  significant  in 
their  suggestiveness.  Emily’s  extraordinary  fair- 
ness, it  is  said,  manifested  itself  at  an  early  age. 
People  would  stop  her  on  the  street  when  she  was 
out  promenading  with  her  small  sister  and  their 
beloved  nurse  “ Lely.”  “ What  a lovely  child  ! ” 
they  would  exclaim  enthusiastically.  “ What  is 
your  name,  my  little  beauty?”  We  can  imagine 
the  child’s  wide-eyed  surprise  and  unaffected  mod- 
esty under  this  injudicious  talk  and  questioning. 


272 


EMILY  MARSHALL. 


When  Emily  iNIarshall  first  went  to  school  she 
attended  “ Ma’am  English’s  ” school.  It  was 
there  she  learned  her  alphabet,  and  it  was  there 
tliat  Russell  Sturgis,  afterwards  a partner  of  the 
Barings,  the  great  London  bankers,  first  made  her 
acquaintance.  He  who,  as  a little  boy,  had  known 
her,  a little  girl,  wrote,  on  the  receqjt  of  a photo- 
graph of  lier  portrait,  forty  years  after  her  death, 
“ I remember  perfectly  the  portrait,  and  the  time 
when  it  was  painted.  No  painter  could  ever  give 
the  brilliant  expression  that  alwaj^s  lighted  her 
beautiful  face  ; the  portrait  is  as  good,  therefore, 
as  any  one  could  make  it.” 

After  leaving  Madam  English’s  Emil}'-  went  to 
Dr.  Parke’s  school  on  iMount  Vernon  street.  Dr. 
Parke’s  was  considered  the  best  girls’  school  in 
Boston.  There  Emily  numbered  Margaret  Fuller 
among  her  schoolmates.  Margaret,  who  was  so 
clever  and  precocious,  but  whose  pretty  hands  were 
her  one  claim  to  comeliness,  is  said  to  have  regarded 
Emily  very  much  as  the  brilliant  but  unbeautiful 
iMadame  de  Stael  regarded  her  lovely  friend, 
IMadame  Rficamier.  IMargaret’s  eyes  used  to  follow 
Emily  about  admiringly,  a little  enviously,  and  one 
day  she  confessed  to  Emily’s  sister  that  she  would 
wilbngly  exchange  all  her  mental  powers  for 
Emily’s  beauty  and  attractiveness. 

At  school  Emily  excelled  in  drawing  and  em- 
broidery. She  had  a decided  taste  for  music,  and 
her  musical  instruction  was  continued  until  the 


EMILY  MARSHALL. 


273 


time  of  her  marriage,  and  was  conducted  hy  Mr. 
jMatthieu,  Mademoiselle  Berthieu,  and  Mr.  Osinelli. 
From  Dr.  Parke’s  Emily  went  to  Madame  Canda’s 
French  school  on  Chestnut  street,  and  there  she 
received  the  finishing  touches  in  the  way  of  edu- 
cation. 

It  was  during  Emily’s  school  days,  while  she  was 
still  a young  girl,  thirteen  or  fourteen  years  of  age, 
that  William  Foster  Otis,  son  of  Harrison  Gray 
Otis,  first  saw  her  and  loved  her.  She  was  hurry- 
ing home  from  school,  her  school  hooks  on  her  arm, 
and  the  light  of  something  more  than  learning 
shining  in  the  soft  hazel  of  her  eyes.  She  could 
not  know  that  the  earnest  gaze  of  tlie  young  man 
Avho  passed  her  was  the  beginning  of  a love  that 
was  to  last  a lifetime.  She  turned  from  it  with 
sweet  unconsciousness,  and  busied  herself  with 
thoughts  of  nearer  consequence. 

At  length  Emily’s  school  days  came  to  an  end. 
She  entered  the  social  world.  Of  the  period  of  her 
debutanteship  there  are  many  records.  The  beauti- 
ful Emily  Marshall  comes  down  to  us  upon  the 
pages  of  old-time  letters  and  memoirs  with  a halo 
of  reverent  love  and  homage  about  her  head. 

The  story  of  Emily’s  life,  of  her  beauty,  of  her 
attractive  personality,  and  of  her  sweet,  unselfish 
character  reads  like  a charming  poem.  It  is  im- 
possible to  approach  her  in  friendly,  intimate  fash- 
ion. She  seems  something  remote,  a heroine  of 
romance  or  of  fable,  and  we  enter  her  pres- 


274 


EMILY  MARSHALL. 


ence  as  we  would  that  of  some  mythical  queen 
or  enchanted  princess,  with  feelings  of  admiring, 
wondering  awe.  Gray-haired  men,  men  who  were 
her  lovers  three-quarters  of  a century  ago,  have 
written  and  spoken  of  her.  They  have  enshrined 
her  and,  till  their  deaths,  have  served  her  memory 
with  a loyal  and  chivalrous  devotion.  AYe  may 
hehold  her  through  their  eyes. 

Emily  Alarshall  comes  floating  down  to  us  across 
the  years,  those  three-score  and  more,  escorted  bj- 
her  hosts  of  reverent,  adoring  lovers,  with  an 
atmosphere  of  delightful,  picturesque  simplicity 
about  her  — the  atmosphere  of  Boston  in  the  early 
twenties  of  the  last  centuiqn  AA^hen  Emily  Alar- 
shall  was  a girl,  Boston  was  a little  settlement  of 
old-time  friends  and  acquaintances.  Its  society 
was  made  up  of  families  who  had  lived  together 
for  generations.  An  English  traveller  who  visited 
the  city  at  that  time  described  it  as  a place  where 
all  the  people  called  each  other  by  their  Clnistian 
names.  Then  the  Boston  dinner  hour  was  four 
o’clock.  Balls  began  at  eight  and  closed  at  twelve, 
and  the  fair  ones  who  attended  them  went  gowned 
in  diaphanous  fabrics,  — tarletons,  muslins,  and 
gauzes.  Silks,  satins,  and  velvets  were  too  elabo- 
rate for  the  women  of  that  primitive  day.  They 
wore  slippers  made  with  paper  soles  and  without 
heels,  and  it  generally  happened  that  they  danced^ 
out  a pair  in  an  evening.  The  literatui'e  of  the  pe- 
riod came  from  England  and  consisted  of  the  stories 


EMILY  MARSHALL. 


275 


of  Jane  Austen,  Francis  Burney,  and  iNIaria  Edge- 
worth,  sometimes  Scott,  and  always  Shakspere. 
The  great  day  for  Bostonians  was  Harvard  Com- 
mencement Day.  It  Avas  a state  holiday  and  “ the 
flower  of  Massachusetts  Avomanhood,”  Ave  are  told, 
“turned  out  to  do  honor  to  the  occasion.”  On 
that  memorable  day,  we  may  be  sure,  Emily  Mar- 
shall AAms  croAvned  queen  of  love  and  beauty  in  the 
Avorshipful  heart  of  many  a young  student. 

Painter  and  sculptor  have  failed  to  present 
this  queen  of  love  and  beauty  as  she  really  Avas. 
No  art  could  do  her  justice.  Portrait  and  bust  were 
finished  “ in  despair  ” and  Avere  given  to  the  Avorld 
as  “failures.”  The  expression,  the  chief  charm, 
was  always  missing.  Even  the  poet,  the  friend, 
the  lover  could  not  call  that  back  to  life. 
“ The  unspeakable  grace,  the  light  of  the  eye,  the 
expression  of  her  face,”  Avrote  one  who  knew  her 
Avell,  “ they  come  back  to  me  as  I think  of  her,  hut 
I cannot  convey  them  to  others.  It  Avas  the  light 
in  the  porcelain  vase.  You  could  draAV  the  outline 
of  the  vase,  but  Avhen  the  light  was  quenched  it 
Avould  he  knoAvn  no  more.” 

She  is  described  as  having  been  “ above  the 
medium  height.”  Her  eyes  Avere  hazel,  a dark 
hazel,  Avhose  color  deepened  and  intensified  Avith 
each  changing  thought  and  feeling.  Her  hair  Avas 
brown,  of  that  indescribable  shade  that  flashes  gold 
jin  the  sunlight.  Her  grace,  we  are  told,  Avas 
something  not  acquired.  “ A creature  of  such 


276 


EMIL  Y MA  B SHA  LL . 


absolute  natural  perfection,”  said  one  of  her  ad- 
mirers, a judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  Pennsyl- 
vania, “ was  physically  unable  to  make  an  ungrace- 
ful movement.” 

None  of  all  Emily’s  adorers  bestowed  more  elo- 
quent praise  upon  her  than  did  the  gallant  Josiah 
Quincy,  one  of  the  numerous  Josiah  Quincys  who 
were  of  the  Mayoralty  of  Boston,  son  of  the  great 
Josiah  Quincy.  He  saw  her  for  the  first  time 
walking  across  the  Dover-street  bridge,  the  Bridge 
of  Sighs,  it  was  called,  a favorite  promenade  of 
lovers.  She  was  with  a gentleman  celebrated  as 
“ Beau  ” Watson.  Josiah  Quincy  had  no  eyes  for 
“ Beau.”  He  only  beheld  the  woman  of  radiant 
loveliness.  He  went  home  to  dream  of  her  and  to 
write  couplets  about  her,  apostrophizing  her  as  the 
Goddess  of  Beauty.  That,  of  course,  was  all  in  the 
enthusiasm  of  youth.  It  was  after  the  lapse  of 
more  than  three-score  years  that  he  wrote,  Cen- 
turies are  likely  to  come  and  go  before  society  will 
again  gaze  spell-bound  upon  a woman  so  richly 
endowed  with  beauty  as  was  Miss  Emily  Mai-shall. 
I well  know  the  peril  which  lies  in  superlatives, 
— they  were  made  for  the  use  of  veiy  young  per- 
sons, — but  in  speaking  of  this  gracious  lady,  even 
the  cooling  influences  of  more  than  half  a century 
do  not  enable  me  to  avoid  them.  She  was  simply 
perfect  in  face  and  figure,  and  perfectly  charming 
in  manner.” 

Mr.  William  Amoryusedto  declare  that  during 


EMILY  MARSHALL. 


277 


his  youth  he  was  the  most  distinguished  man  in 
Boston  because  he  was  not  in  love  with  Emily 
Marshall.  Perhaps  William  Amory  was  right.  It 
is  almost  impossible  to  find  one  among  the  promi- 
nent Boston  men  of  Emily  Marsliall’s  day  who  has 
not  left  some  confession  of  his  love  behind  him. 

About  the  time  of  Emily's  debutanteship,  the 
family  moved  to  Franklin  place.  Immediately 
Franklin  place  became  the  favorite  promenade  for 
the  young  men  of  Boston.  They  used  to  walk 
past  the  Marshall  house  once  or  twice  a day,  it  is 
said,  with  the  hope  of  getting  a glimpse  of  Emily 
at  her  window.  The  church  of  which  Emily  was 
a member,  tlie  Franklin-street  church,  was  very 
Avell  attended.  Emily,  it  must  be  confessed,  was 
as  much  the  attraction  there  as  Dr.  Malcolm,  the 
minister.  Even  the  non-church-going  William 
Lloyd  Garrison  was  drawn  into  the  congregation 
for  the  sake,  he  frankly  admitted,  of  beholding 
“ the  lovely  face  of  Emily  Marshall.” 

Nathaniel  Parker  Willis,  one  of  our  best-known 
writers  of  that  early  day,  was  an  intimate  friend  in 
the  Marshall  family.  He  tells  us  that  when  as  a 
young  man  he  mounted  the  steps  of  their  house  and 
thought  of  the  beautiful  girl  into  whose  presence 
he  was  going,  his  feelings  were  those  of  one  about 
to  enter  an  enchanted  sphere.  His  tribute  to 
her  has  come  down  to  us  among  his  published  verse 
in  the  form  of  a pretty  acrostic  ; 


278 


EMILY  MARSHALL. 


“■  Elegance  floats  about  thee  like  a dress 
Melting  the  airy  motion  of  thy  form 
Into  one  swaying  grace,  and  loveliness 
Like  a rich  tint  that  makes  a picture  warm 
Is  lurking  in  the  chestnut  of  thy  tress, 
Enriching  it  as  moonlight  after  storm 
Mingles  dark  shadows  into  gentleness. 

A beauty  that  bewilders  like  a spell 
Eeigns  in  thine  eyes’  dear  hazel,  and  thy  brow 
So  pure  in  veined  transparency,  doth  tell 
How  spiritually  beautiful  art  thou,  — 

A temple  where  angelic  love  might  dwell. 

Life  in  thy  presence  were  a thing  to  keep 
Like  a gay  dreamer  clinging  in  his  sleep.” 


Many  were  the  songs  which  Emily’s  loveliness 
inspired.  Of  these  the  poet  Percival’s  sonnet,  an 
acrostic  like  Willis’,  is  perhaps  the  best  known  : 

“ Earth  holds  no  fairer,  lovelier  than  thou. 

Maid  of  the  laughing  lip  and  frolic  eye ; 

Innocence  sits  upon  thy  open  hrow. 

Like  a pure  spirit  in  its  native  sky. 

If  ever  beauty  stole  the  heart  away 
Enchantress,  it  would  fly  to  meet  thy  smile. 

Moments  would  seem  by  thee  a summer’s  day. 

And  all  around  thee  an  Elysian  isle. 

Roses  are  nothing  to  thy  maiden  blush 
Sent  o’er  thy  cheek’s  soft  ivory ; and  night 
Has  naught  so  dazzling  in  its  world  of  light 
As  the  dark  rays  that  from  thy  lashes  gush. 

Love  lurks  among  thy  silken  curls,  and  lies 
Like  a keen  archer,  in  thy  kindling  eyes.” 

Among  those  who  have  given  testimony  of  the 
loveliness  of  Emily  IMarshall  was  James  Freeman 


EMILY  MARSHALL. 


279 


Clarke.  It  was  he  who  said  that  “ he  had  often 
been  perplexed  by  the  accounts  of  the  great  per- 
sonal power  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  that  he  had 
never  been  able  to  comprehend  how  the  mere 
beauty  of  a woman  could  so  control  the  destinies 
of  individuals  and  nations,  causing  men  gladly  to 
accept  death  at  the  price  of  a glance  of  the  eye,  or 
a touch  of  the  hand.”  Emily  Marshall,  he  de- 
clared, had  made  him  realize  this  power.  Her  face 
had  revealed  it  to  him  in  all  its  wonderful  possi- 
bilities. 

Appreciation  of  Emily  Marshall’s  remarkable 
beauty  was  not  restricted  to  her  own  social  class 
or  set.  The  little  street  hoys  followed  her  as  they 
had  followed  Madame  Rdcamier.  A workman  once 
failed  to  go  home  to  his  dinner  because  she  had 
passed  him  in  the  morning  and  he  was  waiting  be- 
yond his  lunch  hour  in  the  hope  that  she  might 
return  the  same  way  that  she  had  gone.  He  would 
rather  see  her  any  day,  he  said,  than  eat  his 
dinner. 

Indeed,  admiration  of  Emily  Marshall  was  uni- 
versal. Her  native  city  offered  her  the  same  hom- 
age that  it  offered  its  other  equally  distinguished 
representative,  Daniel  Webster.  One  evening 
Daniel  Webster,  a newly  elected  Senator,  entered 
the  old  Federal-street  Theatre  in  Boston,  and  was 
received  with  loud  applause.  A few  moments  later 
Emily  Marshall  appeared  in  the  box,  and  the  audi- 
ence rose  to  welcome  her  with  cheers  as  enthusi- 


280 


EMILY  MARSHALL. 


astic  as  those  which  had  ushered  in  the  famous 
orator. 

Her  fame  spread  far  beyond  the  confines  of  her 
own  city  and  state.  Whenever  she  went  on  a 
journey  there  was  always  an  expectant  throng  as- 
sembled at  the  various  stopping-places,  awaiting 
the  arrival  of  the  coach,  eager  for  a glimpse  of  the 
beautiful  passenger.  During  her  summerings  in 
Saratoga,  a crowd  lingered  about  the  hotel  where 
she  Avas  staying  to  watch  her  goings-out  and  com- 
ings-in.  She  was  never  alloAved  to  pass  unnoticed. 
Upon  the  occasion  of  a Ausit  to  New  York,  she  is 
said  to  have  walked  attended  by  “ten  escorts,” 
and  “ sixty  gentlemen,”  it  is  reported,  left  their, 
cards  for  her.  And  it  is  a Philadelphia  tradition 
that  Avhen  she  came  to  the  Quaker  city  the . girls 
were  let  out  of  school  before  the  closing  hour,  in 
order  that  they  might  behold  the  celebrated  Ameri- 
can beauty.  Such  are  the  tales  told  of  the  won- 
derful fairness  of  Emily  IMarshall.  One  might 
believe  them  fabulous  if  one  did  not  know  that 
they  were  true. 

Tales  of  the  “ cliAune  ” Emily’s  modesty  and 
sweetness  of  character  are  as  numerous  as  those  of 
her  wonderful  fairness.  One  would  think  that  all 
the  flattery  and  adulation  AAdiich  she  received 
might  have  turned  her  head.  But  perhaps  diAini- 
ties,  real  flesh  and  blood  cliAdnities,  are  above  all 
such  foolishness.  At  any  rate,  Emily  was.  She 
retained  her  natiA^e  simphcity  and  natural,  unas- 


SHE  IS  SAID  TO  HAVE  WALKED  ATTENDED  BY  "TEN  ESCORTS. 


EMILY  MARSHALL. 


281 


suming  manners.  The  sister  who  was  her  room- 
mate for  many  years  said  that  she  was  never  able 
to  detect  a look  or  action  of  hers  that  betrayed  per- 
sonal vanity. 

“ Oh,  Emily,”  exclaimed  the  sister  one  evening, 
in  a burst  of  admiration,  as  Emily  appeared  before 
her  attired  in  her  hall  gown,  “ do  yon  realize  how 
beautiful  you  are  ? ” 

“Yes,”  answered  Emily,  and  we  can  imagine  the 
gentle  dignity  with  which  she  spoke,  “ I know  that 
I am  beautiful,  but  I do  not  understand  why  people 
should  act  so  unwisely  about  it.” 

Emily  was  always  “ bright  and  cheerful,”  we  are 
told,,  when  she  was  dressing  for  her  balls  and  par- 
ties. She  never  allowed  the  “ excitement  of  the 
toilet”  to  make  her  flustered  or  impatient.  “I 
have  fancied,”  said  her  sister,  “ that  the  tranquil 
mood  in  which  she  went  to  her  carriage  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  sincere  smile  with  which  she 
could  meet  old  and  young  in  society.” 

A charming  picture  of  Emily  dressed  for  the  ball 
has  come  down  to  us  from  the  hand  of  one  of  the 
youngest  of  the  Marshall  family.  It  was  the  chil- 
dren’s delight  to  behold  their  elder  sister  in  even- 
ing costume.  “ On  this  particular  evening,”  the 
writer  tells  us,  “ we  were  more  than  usually  impa- 
tient and  M and  I,  in  a fever  of  expectation, 

kept  running  to  her  door  when  her  maid  was  dress- 
ing her  and  asking  to  be  let  in.  At  last,  wearied 
with  our  attempts  to  get  in,  she  said,  ‘ Now,  girls. 


282 


EMIL  Y MA  R SHA  LL . 


if  you  will  only  stay  in  the  nursery  till  quarter 
before  nine  you  may  then  come  in  and  look  at  me 
to  your  hearts’  content.’  This  satisfied  us,  and  oh, 
how  we  did  enjoy  looking  at  her ! It  was  like 
looking  at  a lovely  picture.  I can  see  her  at  this 
moment  just  as  she  looked  then,  her  eyes  very 
bright,  her  face  animated  and  smiling,  showing  her 
perfect  teeth.  She  wore  a “white  lawn  dress  Avith 
low  neck  and  short  sleeves  and  no  jewelry.” 

Emily’s  sisters,  you  see,  were  as  much  her  ad- 
mu’ers  as  was  the  rest  of  the  world.  Indeed  it  is 
impossible  to  find  one  voice  that  spoke  of  this  Avon- 
derful  woman  that  did  not  speak  to  praise  her. 
Her  loveliness  of  character  even  more  than  her 
loveliness  of  form  and  face  charmed  every  one. 
“ She  carried  happiness  with  her,”  some  one  said  of 
her,  “ and  was  constantly  watchful  for  opportuni- 
ties to  benefit  others.”  And  it  Avas  a woman  who 
aAvarded  her  this  beautiful  tribute  : “ Say  that  no 
envious  thought  could  have  been  possible  in  her 
presence ; that  her  sunny  ways  Avere  fascinating  to 
all  alike  ; that  she  was  as  kind  and  attentive  to  the 
stupid  and  the  tedious  as  if  they  Avere  talented  and 
of  social  prominence.” 

The  very  perfection  of  this  beautiful  girl  is  what 
makes  her  seem  so  remote,  so  far  removed  from  us 
commonplace  folks.  She  is  almost  unreal  in  her 
faultlessness.  And  when  we  hear  of  her  plapng 
at  archery  in  the  green  fields  about  her  home,  we 
imagine  her  as  AAm  might  imagine  the  goddess 


EMILY  MARSHALL. 


283 


Diana,  bending  her  bow  with  something  more  than 
human  grace  and  skill.  Or  when,  in  the  narrative 
of  N.  P.  Willis,  we  read  of  her  sporting  and  frolick- 
ing at  Niagara  we  picture  her  as  a Avater  sprite,  an 
Undine  of  the  cataract,  gliding  in  airy,  fairylike 
fashion  through  the  rainboAv  mists  of  the  Falls. 

Yet  the  SAveet  seriousness  of  her  character  makes 
us  realize  how  much  the  superior  she  was  of 
heathen  goddess  or  Avater  sprite.  She  had  Avhat  they 
had  not,  a sense  of  spiritual  things.  A charming 
anecdote  that  has  survived  shows  us  the  religious 
element  in  her  character  in  all  its  deep  sincerity. 
She  was  with  a party  of  young  people,  men  and 
girls,  one  evening,  and  they  were  talking  solemnly 
and  earnestly  together  as  young  people  occasionally 
do.  They  were  telling  their  different  aspirations 
and  enthusiasms.  Emily  had  not  yet  confessed 
hers  and  her  friends  turned  to  lier  exclaiming, 
“ Well,  Emily,  Avhat  have  you  to  say?  What  is 
your  pet  enthusiasm  ? ” 

Emily  hesitated  a moment  before  replying ; she 
was  quite  ready  Avith  her  answer,  but  she  did  not 
know  just  how  it  might  sound  in  words.  She  was 
not  one  of  those  who  rejoice  in  making  pretensions 
to  virtue  and  piety.  Her  sense  of  spiritual  things 
Avas  of  the  sort  that  is  not  lightly  or  easily  expressed. 
When  she  spoke  it  was  with  a smile  that  revealed 
her  inward  beauty.  “ If  I have  an  enthusiasm,” 
she  said  simply,  “ it  is  for  religion.” 

There  was  a young  man  in  the  company,  he 


284 


EMILY  MARSHALL. 


who  had  loved  her  ever  since  the  day  that  he  had 
first  seen  her,  on  her  Avay  home  from  school,  when 
she  was  a little  girl  in  her  earliest  teens.  He  wi'ote 
down  the  answer  with  its  time  and  place.  The 
little  memorandum  has  survived,  a yellow  slip  of 
paper,  telling  the  story  of  a love  tliat  was  not 
founded  on  the  sand. 

Emily  carried  her  religion  into  her  daily  life. 
The  power  that  she  held  hy  reason  of  her  marvel- 
lous beauty  she  exercised  for  the  good  of  all  about 
her.  The  story  has  been  told,  as  illustrative  of 
her  sweet  influence,  of  a young  man  who  was  led 
by  her  to  give  up  the  habit  of  excessiAm  Avine  drink- 
ing. He  was  an  intimate  friend  of  hers  and  she 
had  known  of  his  fault  for  a long  time.  Of  course 
she  Avas  very  much  concerned  about  it  and  longed 
to  help  him,  but  she  hesitated  to  speak,  realizing 
the  dansfer  of  talldiig'  with  a friend  about  his  fault. 
At  length,  hoAA’ever,  her  desire  to  benefit  him  oAmr- 
came  all  her  scruples,  and  she  spoke.  The  young 
man  was  at  hist  Amry  angry.  He  answered  her 
“passionately,”  it  is  said,  and  “flung”  himself 
out  of  the  house.  But  his  “better  nature,”  we 
are  told,  triumphed,  and  he  returned  to  beg  her 
pardon  for  his  rudeness,  to  thank  her  for  her  in- 
terest in  him,  and  to  make  a promise  that  he  neA’er 
broke.  Emily’s  brave  words  had  accomplished 
their  end. 

Thus  we  behold  the  beautiful  Emily  iMai’shall 
playing  the  part  of  good  angel  as  gracefully  as  that 


EMILY  MARSHALL. 


285 


of  water  sprite  or  goddess  or  queen  of  hearts.  There 
appears  to  have  been  no  limit  to  her  versatility,  and 
the  time  was  approaching  when  she  was  to  fill  still  a 
different  role,  one  that  has  been  deemed  by  some 
the  most  interesting  of  all  ifiles,  — that  of  a bride. 
It  was  a time  that  proclaimed  William  Foster  Otis 
the  most  fortunate  man  in  Boston. 

Emily  Marshall  was  married  in  May  of  the  year 
1831.  Her  wedding  was  very  simple  and  pretty, 
quite  like  any  other  Boston  wedding  of  that  early 
day.  The  ceremony  was  performed  in  the  blue  and 
yellow  drawing-room  of  the  Franklin-street  house. 

The  bridegroom’s  sister,  with  all  of  a woman’s 
love  of  detail,  has  described  the  great  event : “ There 
were  fifty  guests  at  the  wedding,”  she  writes, 

“ an  enormous  crowd  at  the  visit  [reception]  which^- 
kept  us  until  half-past  ten  from  supper.  The  bride 
looked  very  lovely,  and  was  modest  and  unaffected. 
Her  dress  was  a white  crep  lisse,  with  a rich  vine 
of  silver  embroidery  at  the  top  of  the  deep  hem. 
The  neck  and  sleeves  were  trimmed  with  three 
rows  of  elegant  blond  lace,  very  wide.  Gloves 
embroidered  with  silver,  stockings  ditto.  Her 
dark  brown  hair  dressed  plain  in  front,  high  bows, 
with  a few  orange  blossoms,  and  a rich  blond  lace 
scarf,  tastefully  arranged  on  her  head,  one  end 
hanging  front  over  her  left  shoulder,  the  other 
hanging  behind  over  her  right.  No  ornament  of 
any  kind,  either  on  her  neck  or  ears,  not  even  a 
buckle.  I never  saw  her  look  so  beautifuL  Every 


286 


EMILY  MARSHALL. 


one  was  remarking  on  her  beauty  as  they  passed  in 
and  out  of  the  room.  Mrs.  Marshall  [the  bride’s 
mother]  looked  extremely  handsome.  William 
[the  bridegroom]  looked  quite  as  handsome  as  the 
bride  and  seemed  highly  delighted.  The  bride 
and  groom  went  to  their  house  [70  Beacon  street] 
about  one  o’clock  [m  the  morning].  The  grooms- 
men serenaded  them  until  the  birds  sang  as  loud  as 
their  instruments.” 

The  story  of  Emily  Marshall’s  married  life  — 
those  five  brief  years  — - reads  like  the  closing  stanza 
of  a beautiful  poem.  The  much  flattered,  much 
courted,  universally  admired  society  girl  settled 
down  contentedly  to  the  quiet  happiness  of  home 
life.  She  avoided  social  engagements  as  much  as 
jiossible,  and  devoted  herself  to  her  husband  and 
ber  childi’en.  The  intense  womanliness  of  her 
character  made  her  an  ideal  wife  and  mother. 

Her  death  came  all  too  soon  for  those  who  knew 
and  loved  her.  Yet  for  those  of  us  to  whom  she 
has  become  a beautiful  tradition,  there  is  a certain 
fitness  in  her  early  death.  It  makes  her  seem  more 
than  ever  a being  of  a romantic  and  enchanted 
world.  It  gives  to  her  beauty  the  divine  spark, 
so  that  we  think  of  it  as  of  a thing  fadeless  and 
imperishable,  a beauty  such  as  radiated  from  the 
goddesses  of  old. 

Her  husband,  who  had  loved  her  ever  since  the  day 
long  ago,  when  she  flashed  across  his  vision,  a shy 
and  modest  little  school  girl,  honored  her  with  the 


EMILY  MARSHALL. 


287 


loyalty  of  a lifetime.  His  happiness  was  in  re- 
membering the  past. 

A glimpse  is  given  us  into  the  closing  stanza  of 
Emily  Marshall’s  life.  This  glimpse  shows  us  the 
young  husband  walking  in  his  garden  and  looking 
up  at  the  window  where  his  beautiful  wife  was  sit- 
ting with  their  two  little  daughters.  The  picture 
that  he  saw  in  the  window  filled  the  young  husban^ 
with  such  infinite  joy  that  he  was  almost  afraid. 
He  was  like  one  in  an  enchanted  world,  dreading 
lest  something  might  come  to  break  the  spell  of  his 
great  happiness. 

Thus  it  is  with  an  atmosphere  of  poetry  and 
mystery  about  her  that  Emily  Marshall  comes  and 
goes.  We  watch  her  depart  and,  as  she  floats 
back  across  the  years,  those  three-score  and  more, 
fading  gradually  away  like  some  sweet  dream, 
we  feel  that  we  may  have  been  entertaining  a 
wonderful  being,  some  spirit  or  angel,  unawares. 
She  goes,  leaving  behind  her  an  impression  as  deli- 
cate and  fine  as  the  fragrance  that  survives  a rare 
and  beautiful  flower. 


